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, Anthenor, 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.

Pan.

Not I, hony 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.

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 your 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.
Sweet, above thought, I love thee. [Exeunt. Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man.

Pan.

How now, where's thy Master, at my Cousin Cressida's?

Ser.

No, Sir, he stays for you to conduct him thither.

Pan.
O, here he comes; How now, how now?

Troi.
Sirrah, walk off.

Pan.
Have you seen my Cousin?

Troi.
No, Pandarus: I stalk about her Door
Like a strange Soul upon the Stygian Banks
Staying for waftage. O be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to those Fields,

Where I will wallow in the Lilly Beds
Propos'd for the deserver. O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's Shoulder pluck his painted Wings,
And fly with me to Cressid.

Pan.
Walk here i'th' Orchard, I'll bring her straight. [Exit Pandarus.

Troi.
I am giddy; Expectation whirles me round,
Th'imaginary relish is so sweet,
That it enchants my Sense; what will it be
When that the watry Palates taste indeed
Love's thrice reputed Nectar? Death, I fear me;
Sounding Destruction, or some Joy too fine,
Too subtile, potent, and too sharp in sweetness,
For the Capacity of my ruder Powers:
I fear it much, and I do fear besides,
That I shall lose distinction in my Joys,
As doth a Battel when they charge on heaps
The Enemy flying. Enter Pandarus.

Pan.

She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be witty now, she does so blush, and fetches her Wind so short, as if she were fraid with a Sprite: I'll fetch her; it is the prettiest Villain, she fetches her breath so short as a new ta'en Sparrow.

Troi.
Even such a Passion doth embrace my Bosom:
My Heart beats thicker than a feverous Pulse,
And all my Powers do their bestowing lose,
Like Vassalage at unawares encountring
The Eye of Majesty. Enter Pandarus and Cressida.

Pan.

Come, come, what need you blush?

Shame's a Baby; here she is now, swear the Oaths now to her, that you have sworn to me. What, are you gone again, you must be watch'd e'er you be made tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways, and you draw backward we'll put you i'th' Files: Why do you not speak to her? Come draw this Curtain, and let's see your Picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend day-light? and 'twere dark you'd close sooner. So, so, rub on, and kiss the Mistress; how now, a kiss in Fee-farm? build there, Carpenter, the Air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your Hearts out e'er I part you. The

Faulcon has the Tercel, for all the Ducks i'th' River: Go to, go to.

Troi.

You have bereft me of all Words, Lady.

Pan.

Words pay no Debts, give her Deeds: But she'll bereave you o'th' Deeds too, if she call your Activity in question: What, billing again? here's in witness whereof the Parties interchangeably—Come in, come in, I'll go get a Fire.

Cre.

Will you walk in, my Lord?

Troil.

O Cressida, how often have I wisht me thus?

Cre.

Wisht, my Lord! the Gods grant;—O, my Lord.

Troi.

What should they grant; what makes this pretty abruption; what too curious Dreg espies my sweet Lady in the Fountain of our Love?

Cre.

More Dregs than Water, if my Tears have Eyes.

Troi.

Fears make Devils of Cherubins, they never see truly.

Cre.

Blind fear, that seeing Reason leads, finds safer footing than blind Reason stumbling without fear; to fear the worst, oft cures the worse.

Troi.
O let my Lady apprehend no fear,
In all Cupid's Pageant there is presented no Monster.

Cre.

Nor nothing monstrous neither?

Troi.

Nothing but their Undertakings, when we vow to weep Seas, live in Fire, eat Rocks, tame Tygers, thinking it harder for our Mistress to devise Imposition enough, than for us to undergo any Difficulty imposed. This is the monstrosity in Love, Lady, that the Will is infinite, and the Execution confin'd; that the Desire is boundless, and the Act a Slave to limit.

Cre.

They say all Lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an Ability that they never perform: vowing more than the perfection of ten; and discharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the Voice of Lions, and the act of Hares, are they not Monsters?

Troil.

Are there such? such are not we: Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove: Our Head shall go bare, 'till merit crown it; no Perfection in reversion shall have a Praise in present; we will not name Desert before his Birth, and being born, his addition shall be humble; few Words to

fair Faith. Troilus shall be such to Cressida, as what Envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his Truth; and what Truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus.

Cre.

Will you walk in, my Lord?

Pan.

What, blushing still? have you not done talking yet?

Cre.

Well, Uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.

Pan.

I thank you for that; if my Lord get a Boy of you, you'll give him me; be true to my Lord, if he flinch, chide me for it.

Troi.

You know now your Hostages; your Uncle's Word and my firm Faith.

Pan.

Nay, I'll give my Word for her too; our Kindred, though they be long e'er they are woo'd, they are constant being won: They are Burs, I can tell you, they'll stick where they are thrown.

Cre.
Boldness comes to me now, and brings me Heart:
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you Night and Day,
For many weary Months.

Troi.
Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

Cre.
Hard to seem won: But I was won, my Lord,
With the first glance that ever—Pardon me—
If I confess much, you will play the Tyrant:
I love you now, but not 'till now, so much
But I might master it—in faith I lye—
My Thoughts were like unbridled Children, grown
Too head-strong for their Mother; see we Fools,
Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us
When we are so unsecret to our selves?
But though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not,
And yet good faith I wisht my self a Man:
Or that the Women had Mens privilege
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my Tongue,
For in this Rapture I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent; see, see your silence
Coming in dumbness, from my weakness draws
My Soul of Counsel from me. Stop my Mouth.

Troi.
And shall, albeit sweet Musick issues thence. [Kissing.

Pan.
Pretty, i'faith.

Cre.
My Lord, I do beseech you pardon me;
Twas not my purpose thus to beg a Kiss:
I am asham'd;—O Heavens, what have I done!—
For this time will I take my leave, my Lord.

Troi.

Your leave, sweet Cressid?

Pan.

Leave! and you take leave 'till to Morrow Morning—

Cre.

Pray you, content you.

Troi.

What offends you, Lady?

Cre.

Sir, mine own Company.

Troi.

You cannot shun your self.

Cre.
Let me go and try:
I have a kind of self resides with you:
But an unkind self, that it self will leave,
To be another's Fool. Where is my Wit?
I would be gone: I speak I know not what.

Troi.

Well know they what they speak, that speak so wisely.

Cre.
Perchance, my Lord, I shew more Craft than Love.
And fell so roundly to a large Confession,
To angle for your Thoughts: But you are wise,
Or else you love not; for to be wise and love,
Exceeds Man's might, and dwells with Gods above.

Troi.
O that I thought it could be in a Woman;
And if it can, I will presume in you,
To feed for ay her lamp and flames of Love,
To keep her Constancy in plight and youth,
Out-living Beauties outward, with a Mind
That doth renew swifter than Blood decays.
Or that Perswasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you,
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnowed purity in Love:
How were I then up-lifted! But alas,
I am as true as Truth's Simplicity,
And simpler than the Infancy of Truth.

Cre.
In that I'll war with you.

Troi.
O virtuous Fight,
When right with right wars, who should be most right?
True Swains in Love, shall in the World to come
Approve their truths by Triolus; when their Rhimes,

Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
Want similies: Truth tired with Iteration,
As true as Steel, as Plantage to the Moon,
As Sun to Day, as Turtle to her Mate,
As Iron to Adamant, as Earth to th'Center:
Yet after all comparisons of truth,
(As Truth's Authentick Author to be cited)
As true as Triolus, shall crown up the Verse,
And sanctifie the Numbers.

Cre.
Prophet may you be:
If I be false or swerve a hair from truth,
When time is old and hath forgot it self,
When Water-drops have worn the Stones of Troy,
And blind Oblivion swallow'd Cities up,
And mighty States caracterless are grated
To dusty nothing; yet let Memory,
From false to false, among false Maids in love,
Upbraid my Falsehood; when they've said as false,
As Air, as Water, as Wind, as sandy Earth;
As Fox to Lamb, as Wolf to Heifer's Calf;
Pard to the Hind, or Step-dame to her Son;
Yea, let them say, to stick the Heart of Falsehood,
As false as Cressid.

Pan.

Go to, a Bargain made: Seal it, seal it, I'll be the Witness. Here I hold your Hand; here my Cousin's; if ever you prove false to one another, since I have taken such Pains to bring you together, let all pitiful Goers-between, be call'd, to the World's end, after my Name: Call them all Panders; let all constant Men be Troilusses, all false Women Cressida's, and all Brokers between, Panders; say, Amen.

Troi.

Amen.

Cre.

Amen.

Pan.

Amen.

Whereupon I will shew you a Chamber, which Bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to Death: Away.

SCENE II. The Grecian Camp. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Menelaus and Calchas.

Cal.
Now, Princes, for the Service I have done you,
Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud,
To call for recompence: Appear it to your Mind,
That through the sight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my Possession,
Incurr'd a Traitor's Name, expos'd my self,
From certain and possest Conveniencies,
To doubtful Fortunes, sequestring from me all
That Time, Acquaintance, Custom, and Condition,
Made tame, and most familiar to my Nature:
And here to do you Service am become
As new into the World, strange, unacquainted.
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,
Out of those many Registred in Promise,
Which you say live to come in my behalf.

Aga.
What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.

Cal.
You have a Trojan Prisoner, call'd Anthenor,
Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you (often have you, Thanks therefore)
Desir'd my Cressid in right great Exchange,
Whom Troy hath still deny'd: But this Anthenor,
I know, is such a wrest in their Affairs,
That their Negotiations all must slack,
Wanting this Manage; and they will almost
Give us a Prince o' th' Blood, a Son of Priam,
In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,
And he shall buy my Daughter: And her presence
Shall quite strike off all Service I have done,
In most accepted pain.

Aga.
Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have
What he requests of us: Good Diomede,
Furnish you fairly for this enterchange;
With all, bring Word, if Hector will to Morrow
Be answer'd in his Challenge. Ajax is ready.

Dio.
This shall I undertake, and 'tis a burthen
Which I am proud to bear. [Ex.it Enter Achilles and Patroclus, in their Tent.

Ulys.
Achilles stands i'th' entrance of his Tent;
Please it our General to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and Princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:
I will come last, 'tis like he'll question me,
Why such unplausive Eyes are bent? why turn'd on him?
If so, I have Decision medicinable,
To use between our Strangeness and his Pride,
Which his own Will shall have desire to drink;
It may do good: Pride hath no other Glass
To shew it self, but Pride; for supple Knees
Feed Arrogance, and are the proud Man's Fees.

Aga.
We'll execute your Purpose, and put on
A form of Strangeness as we pass along,
So do each Lord, and either greet him not,
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more,
Then if not look'd on. I will lead the Way.

Achil.
What, comes the General to speak with me?
You know my Mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

Aga.
What says Achilles, would he ought with us?

Nest.
Would you, my Lord, ought with the General?

Achil.
No.

Nest.
Nothing, my Lord.

Aga.
The better.

Achil.
Good Day, good Day,

Men.
How do you? How do you?

Achil.
What, does the Cuckold scorn me?

Aja.
How now, Patroclus?

Achil.
Good Morrow, Ajax.

Aja.
Ha.

Achil.
Good Morrow.

Aja.
Ay, and good next Day too. [Exeunt.

Achil.
What mean these Fellows? Know they not Achilles?

Patr.
They pass strangely: They were us'd to bend,
To send their Smiles before them to Achilles:
To come as humbly as they us'd to creep to Holy Altars.

Achil.
What, am I poor of late?
'Tis certain, Greatness once fall'n out with Fortune,

Must fall out with Men too: What the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the Eyes of others,
As feel in his own Fall: For Men, like Butter-flies,
Shew not their mealy Wings, but to the Summer;
And not a Man, for being simple Man,
Hath any Honour, but honour'd by those Honours
That are without him; as Place, Riches, Favour,
Prizes of Accident, as oft as Merit:
Which when they fall (as being slippery standers)
The Love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Dye in the Fall: But 'tis not so with me,
Fortune and I are Friends, I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess,
Save these Mens Looks, who do methinks find out
Something in me not worth that rich Beholding,
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses,
I'll interrupt his Reading.—How now Ulysses?

Ulys.
Now, great Thetis Son!

Achil.
What, are you reading?

Ulys.
A strange Fellow here
Writes me, that Man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath;
Nor feels not what he ows, but by Reflection,
As when his Virtues shining upon others,
Heat them, and they retort that Heat again
To the first Giver.

Achil.
This is not strange, Ulysses,
The Beauty that is born here in the Face,
The Bearer knows not, but commends it self,
Not going from it self, but Eye to Eye oppos'd.
Salute each other, with each others Form.
For Speculation turns not to it self,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see it self; this is not strange at all.

Ulys.
I do not strain at the Position,
It is familiar; but at the Author's drift;
Who in his Circumstance, expresly proves
That no Man is the Lord of any thing,
(Tho' in and of him) there is much consisting,

'Till he communicate his Parts to others:
Nor doth he of himself know them for ought,
'Till he behold them formed in th' Applause,
Where they're extended: Which like an Arch reverb'rates
The Voice again, or like a Gate of Steel,
Fronting the Sun, receives and renders back
His Figure, and his Heat. I was much rapt in this,
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax.
Heavens! What a Man is there? A very Horse,
That as he knows not Nature, what things are
Most abject in Regard, and dear in Use;
What things again most dear in the Esteem,
And poor in Worth: Now shall we see to Morrow,
An act that very Chance doth throw upon him:
Ajax renown'd! O Heavens, what some Men do,
While some Men leave to do!
How some Men creep in skittish Fortune's Hall,
Whiles others play the Idiots in her Eyes:
How one Man eats into another's Pride,
While Pride is feasting in his Wantonness!
To see these Grecian Lords; why, even already,
They clap the Lubber Ajax on the Shoulder,
As if his Foot were on brave Hector's Breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil.
I do believe it,
For they past by me, as Misers do by Beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
VVhat, are my Deeds forgot?

Ulys.
Time hath, my Lord, a Wallet at his Back,
Wherein he puts Alms for Oblivion:
A great-siz'd Monster of Ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good Deeds past,
Which are devour'd as fast as they are made,
Forgot as soon as done: Perseverance, dear my Lord,
Keeps Honour bright: To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty Male
In monumental Mock'ry: Take the instant way,
For Honour travels in a Straight so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast, keep then the Path,
For Emulation hath a thousand Sons,

That one by one pursue; if you give Way
Or hedge aside from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred Tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost;
Or like a gallant Horse fall'n in first Rank,
Lye there for Pavement to the abject, near
O'er-run and trampl'd on: Then what they do in present
Tho' less than yours in past, must o'er-top yours:
For Time is like a fashionable Host,
That slightly shakes his parting Guest by th' Hand;
And with his Arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the Comer; the Welcome ever smiles,
And Farewel goes out sighing: O let not Virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was; for Beauty, Wit,
High-birth, Vigor of Bone, Desert in Service,
Love, Friendship, Charity, are Subjects all
To envious and calumniating Time:
One touch of Nature makes the whole World Kin;
That all with one consent praise new-born Gauds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things past,
And go to Dust, that is, a little Gilt;
More Laud in Gilt o'er-dusted.
The present Eye, praises the present Object.
Then marvel not, thou great and compleat Man,
That all the Greeks begin to Worship Ajax;
Since things in motion 'gin to catch the Eye;
Then what not stirs? the Cry went out on thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thy self alive,
And case thy Reputation in thy Tent;
Whose glorious Deeds, but in these Fields of late,
Made emulous missions 'mongst the Gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to Faction.

Achil.
Of this my Privacy,
I have strong Reasons.

Ulys.
But 'gainst your Privacy,
The Reasons are more potent and heroical:
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in Love
With one of Priam's Daughters.

Achil.
Ha! known?

Ulys.
Is that a wonder?
The Providence that's in a watchful State,
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deep,
Keeps place with thought; and, almost like the Gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb Cradles:
There is a Mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle) in the Soul of State;
Which hath an Operation more divine,
Than Breath or Pen can give expressure to:
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my Lord.
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When Fame shall in her Island sound her Trump;
And all the Greekish Girls shall tripping sing,
Great Hector's Sister did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewel, my Lord—I, as your Lover, speak;
The Fool slides o'er the Ice that you should break.

Patr.
To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you;
A Woman, impudent, and mannish grown,
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate Man,
In time of Action: I stand condemn'd for this;
They think my little stomach to the War,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse your self; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your Neck unloose his amorous fold,
And like a dew-drop from the Lion's mane,
Be shook to airy Air.

Achil.
Shall Ajax fight with Hector!—

Patr.
Ay, and perhaps receive much Honour by him.

Achil.
I see my Reputation is at stake,
My Fame is shrewdly gor'd.

Patr.
O then beware:
Those wounds heal ill that Men do give themselves:
Omission to do what is necessary,
Seals a Commission to a blank of Danger,
And Danger, like an Ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the Sun.

Achil.
Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus,
I'll send the Fool to Ajax, and desire him
T' invite the Trojan Lords, after the Combat,
To see us here unarm'd: I have a Woman's longing,
An Appetite that I am sick withal,
To see great Hector in the weeds of Peace, Enter Thersites.
To talk with him, and to behold his Visage,
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd—

Ther.

A wonder!

Achil.

What?

Ther.

Ajax goes up and down the Field, asking for himself.

Achil.

How so?

Ther.

He must fight singly to Morrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical Cudgelling, that he raves, in saying nothing.

Achil.

How can that be?

Ther.

Why, he stalks up and down like a Peacock, a stride and a stand; ruminates like an Hostess that hath no Arithmetick, but her Brain to set down her Reckoning; bites his Lip with a politick regard, as who should say, there were Wit in his Head, and 'twou'd out; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as Fire in a Flint, which will not shew without knocking. The Man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his Neck i'th' Combat, he'll break't himself in Vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, Good morrow, Ajax. And he replies, Thanks Agamemnon. What think you of this Man, that takes me for the General? He's grown a very Land-fish—languageless—a Monster; a plague of Opinion, a Man may wear it on both sides, like a Leather Jerkin.

Achil.

Thou must be my Ambassador to him, Thersites.

Ther.

Who? I?—why he'll answer no Body; he professes not answering; speaking is for Beggars; he wears his Tongue in's Arms; I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the Pageant of Ajax.

Achil.

To him, Patroclus—tell him, I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my Tent, and to procure safe Conduct for his Person, of the Magnanimous and most Illustrious, six or seven

times honour'd Captain, General of the Grecian Army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this.

Patr.

Jove bless great Ajax.

Ther.

Hum—

Patr.

I come from the worthy Achilles.

Ther.

Ha!

Patr.

Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his Tent.

Ther.

Hum—

Patr.

And to procure safe Conduct from Agamemnon.

Ther.

Agamemnon!—

Patr.

Ay, my Lord.

Ther.

Ha!

Patr.

What say you to't?

Ther.

God be wi'you, with all my Heart.

Patr.

Your answer, Sir.

Ther.

If to Morrow be a fair Day, by eleven a Clock, it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me e'er he has me.

Patr.

Your answer, Sir.

Ther.

Fare ye well with all my Heart.

Achil.

Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

Ther.

No, but he's out a tune thus; what Musick he will be in, when Hector has knockt out his Brains, I know not. But I am sure none; unless the Fidler Apollo get his Sinews to make Catlings on.

Achil.

Come, thou shalt bear a Letter to him straight.

Ther.

Let me carry another to his Horse; for that's the more capable Creature.

Achil.
My Mind is troubled like a Fountain stirr'd,
And I my self see not the bottom of it. [Exit.

Ther.

Would the Fountain of your Mind were clear again, that I might water an Ass at it; I had rather be a Tick in a Sheep, than such a valiant Ignorance.

Previous section

Next section