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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].

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Scene 1 SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy. Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Musick within.]

Pandarus.

Friend! you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young lord Paris?

Ser.

Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan.

You do depend upon him, I mean?

Ser.

Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan.

You depend upon a noble gentleman: I must needs praise him.

Ser.

The lord be praised!

Pan.

You know me, do you not?

Ser.

Faith, Sir, superficially.

Pan.

Friend, know me better, I am the lord Pandarus.

Ser.

I hope, I shall know your honour better.

Pan.

I do desire it.

Ser.

You are in the state of grace?

Pan.

Grace? not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles:

What musick is this?

Ser.

I do but partly know, Sir; it is musick in parts.

Pan.

Know you the musicians?

Ser.

Wholly, Sir.

Pan.

Who play they to?

Ser.

To the hearers, Sir.

Pan.

At whose pleasure, friend?

Ser.

At mine, Sir, and theirs that love musick.

-- 55 --

Pan.

Command, I mean, friend.

Ser.

Who shall I command, Sir?

Pan.

Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

Ser.

That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul.

Pan.

Who, my cousin Cressida?

Ser.

No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out That by her attributes?

Pan.

It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complemental assault upon him, for my business seethes.

Ser.

Sodden business! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan.

Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair Desires in all fair measure fairly guide them; especially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen.

Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan.

You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen: fair Prince, here is good broken musick.

Par.

You have broken it, cousin, and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan.

Truly, lady, no.

Helen.

O, Sir—

Pan.

Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

Par.

Well said, my lord; well, you say so in fits.

Pan.

I have business to my lord, dear Queen; my lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Helen.

Nay, this shall not hedge us out; we'll hear you sing, certainly.

-- 56 --

Pan.

Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my lord;—my dear lord, and most esteemed Friend, your brother Troilus—

Helen.

My lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord,—

Pan.
Go to, sweet Queen, go to—
Commends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen.
You shall not bob us out of our melody:
If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan.

Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, I'faith—

Helen.

And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sower offence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words, no, no—

Pan.

And, my lord, he desires you, that if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen.

My lord Pandarus,—

Pan.

What says my sweet Queen, my very very sweet Queen?

Par.

What exploit's in hand, where sups he to night?

Helen.

Nay, but my lord,—

Pan.

What says my sweet Queen? my cousin will fall out with you.

Helen.

You must not know where he sups.

Par.

I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

Pan.

No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your disposer is sick.

Par.

Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan.

Ay, good my lord; why should you say, Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

Par.

I spy—

Pan.

You spy, what do you spy? come, give me an instrument now, sweet Queen.

Helen.

Why, this is kindly done.

Pan.

My neice is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet Queen.

Helen.

She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

Pan.

He? no, she'll none of him, they two are twain.

-- 57 --

Helen.

Falling in after falling out may make them three.

Pan.

Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll sing you a song now.

Helen.

Ay, ay, pr'ythee now; by my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine fore-head.

Pan.

Ay, you may, you may—

Helen.

Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Pan.

Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.

Par.

Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

Pan.

In good troth, it begins so.

Love, love, nothing but love, still more:
For O, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore:
These lovers cry, oh! oh! they dye:
Yet That, which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn, oh! oh! to ha, ha, he:
So dying love lives still.
O ho a while, but ha, ha, ha;
O ho groans out for ha, ha, ha—hey ho!

Helen.

In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose!

Par.

He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds are love.

Pan.

Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? why, they are vipers; is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's afield to day?

Par.

Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?

Helen.

He hangs the lip at something; you know all, lord Pandarus.

-- 58 --

Pan.

Not I, honey sweet Queen: I long to hear how they sped to day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?

Par.
To a hair.

Pan.
Farewel, sweet Queen.

Helen.
Commend me to your neice.

Pan.
I will, sweet Queen. [Exit. Sound a Retreat.

Par.
They're come from field; let us to Priam's Hall,
To greet the warriors.—Sweet Helen, I must woo you
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
With these your white enchanting fingers toucht,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews: you shall do more
Than all the island Kings, disarm great Hector.

Helen.
'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris:
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, over-shines our self.

Par.
Sweet, above thought I love thee. [Exeunt.
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