Pandarus.
Pan.
Friend, you! pray you, a word: Do not you
follow the young lord Paris?
Ser.
Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pan.
You depend upon him, I mean?
Ser.
Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
Pan.
You depend upon a noble note 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.
-- 50 --
Ser.
You are in the state of grace?
Pan.
Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship are
my titles: note [Musick within.] 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,
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 note 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 note there in person; with him,
the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's visible note
soul,—
Pan.
Who, my cousin Cressida?
Ser.
No, sir, Helen; Could you not note 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 complimental assault upon
him, for my business seeths.
Ser.
Sodden business! there's a note 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
-- 51 --
your fair pillow!
Hel.
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 broke it note, 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.
Hel.
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?
Hel.
Nay, this shall not hedge us out; we'll hear
you sing, certainly.
Pan.
Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with
me.—But (marry) thus, my lord,—My dear lord, and
most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus—
Hel.
My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,—
Pan.
Go to, sweet queen, go to:—commends himself
most affectionately to you;—
Hel.
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.
Par.
And note to make14Q1219 a sweet lady sad, is a sour offence.
Hel.
Nay note, 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 note excuse.
-- 52 --
Hel.
My lord Pandarus,—
Pan.
What says my sweet queen; my very very sweet
queen?
Par.
What exploit's in hand? where sups note he tonight?
Hel.
Nay, but my lord,—
Pan.
What says my sweet queen?—You must not
know where he sups.
Par.
I'll lay my life, with note my disposer Cressida.
Pan.
No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come,
your disposer is sick.
Par.
Well, I'll make note excuse.
Pan.
Ay, good my lord. Why should you say—
Cressida? no, your poor note disposer's sick.
Par.
I spy—
Pan.
You spy! what do you spy?—Come, give me
an instrument now, sweet queen.
Hel.
Why, this is kindly done.
Pan.
My niece is horribly note in love with a thing you
have, sweet queen.
Hel.
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.—My cousin will fall out with you.14Q1220
Hel.
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.
Hel.
Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet
lord note, thou hast a fine forehead.
Pan.
Ay, you may, you may.
Hel.
Let thy song be love: this love will undo us
all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
-- 53 --
Pan.
Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Par.
Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan.
In good troth, it begins so. note
SONG.
1
Love, love, nothing but love, still more! note
For, o, love's bow
shoots buck note and doe:
the shaft confounds note
not that it wounds note,
but tickles still the sore.
2.
These lovers cry—Oh, oh, they die!
yet that which seems the wound to kill,
doth turn oh oh to ha ha he;
so dying love lives still:
oh oh a while, but ha ha ha;
oh oh groans out for ha ha ha;
Hey ho!
Hel.
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 is
love note.
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 a'field
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?
Hel.
He hangs the lip at something;—you know
-- 54 --
all, my lord Pandarus.
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.
Hel.
Commend me to your niece.
Pan.
I will, sweet queen.
[Exit. Retreat sounded.
Par.
They're come note 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 note white enchanting fingers touch'd,
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.
Hel.
'Twill make us proud to be his servant note, Paris:
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have;
Yea, over-shines ourself.
Par.
Sweet, above thought I love thee. note
[Exeunt.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
