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While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish Fortune's hall,
While others play the idiots in her eyes!
How one man cats into another's pride,
While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already
They clasp 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 pass'd by me, As misers do by beggars: neither gave to me Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot? Ulyss. 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: Perséverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait 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 forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost;—

Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er-run and trampled on: Then what they do
in present

Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours:

For time is like a fashionable host,

That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue

seek

Remuneration for the thing it was!

For beauty, wit,

High birth, vigour 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 gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.

The present eye praises the present object:
Then marvel not, thou great and cómplete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
And still it might; and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them-
selves,

And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil. Of this my privacy

I have strong reasons.

Ulyss. 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?

Ulyss. Is that a wonder?

The providence that's in a watchful state,
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps;
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 expression to
All the commérce 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 our islands 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.
Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break

[exi

[you

Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'c
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 yourself; 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 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;

These wounds heal ill, that men do give them selves:

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 Patro clus:

I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing,

To see

An appetite that I am sick withal,
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd!

Enter Thersites.

Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking

for himself.

Achil. How so?

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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 a hostess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say-there were wit in this head, an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i'the combat, he'll break it 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 is 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 nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make 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 unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-timeshonoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this.

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax.
Ther. Humph!

SCENE I. TROY. A STREET.

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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 o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo, get his sinews to make catlings on.

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; and I myself see not the bottom of it.

[exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.

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. [exit.

ACT IV.

Enter, at one side, Eneas and Servant, with a
torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor,
Diomedes, and others, with torches.
Par. See, ho! who's that there?
Dei. 'Tis the lord Æneas.

Ene. Is the prince there in person ?

Had I so good occasion to lie long,

Welcome to Troy! now, by Auchises' life,
Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio. We sympathize:-Jove, let Æneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun!
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,

As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly busi- With every joint a wound; and that to-morrow

ness

Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

Dio. That's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Æneas.

Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand : Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told-how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field.

Ene. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce: But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

Ene. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly With his face backward.—In humane gentleness,

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Par. His purpose meets you; 'twas to bring this Greek

To Calchas' house; and there to render him,
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.
Let's have your company; or, if you please,
Haste there before us: I constantly do think,
(Or, rather, call my thoughts a certain knowledge;)
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night;
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality wherefore: I fear,
We shall be much unwelcome.

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Dio. Both alike :

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her (Not making any scruple of her soilure,)

With such a hell of pain, and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour,)
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman.
Dio. She's bitter to her country: hear me,
Paris,-

For every false drop in her bawdy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,

A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath,
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy: But we in silence hold this virtue well,— We'll not commend what we intend to sell. Here lies our way.

[exeunt.

SCENE II. COURT BEFORE THE HOUSE OF PANDARUS. Enter Troilus and Cressida.

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;

He shall unbolt the gates.

Tro. Trouble him not:

To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought!

Cres. Good morrow, then.
Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed.
Cres. Are you aweary of me?

Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee.

Cres. Night hath been too brief.

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays,

As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ;

You men will never tarry,

O foolish Cressid!-I might have still held off,

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Who's that at the door? good uncle, go and sec.—
My lord, come you again into my chamber:
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
Tro. Ha, ha!

Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no [knocking,

such thing.How earnestly they knock! pray you, come in; I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [exeunt Troilus and Cressida. Pan. [going to the door.] Who's there? what's the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? what's the matter?

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We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Cressida.

Tro. Is it so concluded?

ne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy: They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Tro. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them: and, my lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here. Ene. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of

nature

Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[exeunt Tro. & Ene. Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's neck!

Enter Cressida.

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SCENE IV. A ROOM IN PANDARUS' HOUSE.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.
Cres. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it: how can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief:

Cres. How now? What is the matter? Who My love admits no qualifying dross;

was here?

Pan. Ah, ah!

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's

my lord gone?

Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

Cres. O the gods !-What's the matter?

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'would thou had'st ne'er been born! I knew, thou would'st be his death-O poor gentleman!-A plague upon Antenor!

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I beseech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be his death: 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cres. O you immortal gods!-I will not go. Pan. Thon must.

Cres. I will not, uncle:-I have forgot my father;

I know no touch of consanguinity!

No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine!
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
Do to this body what extremes you can;
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all things to it. I'll go in, and weep ;-
Pan. Do, do.

Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks;

Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my

heart

With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [ex eunt. Enter Paris, Troilus, Eneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes.

SCENE III. BEFORE PANDA RUS' HOUSE.

Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon :-good, my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do,

And haste her to the purpose,

Tro. Walk in to her house;

No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Enter Troilus.

Pan. Here, here, here he comes. -Ah, sweet ducks!

Let

Cres. O Troilus! Troilus! [embracing him. Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! me embrace too: O heart,-as the gocdly saying is,

O heart, O heavy heart,
Why sigh'st thou without breaking?

where he answers again,

Because thou canst not ease thy smart,

By friendship, nor by speaking. There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse; we see it, we see it.-How now, lambs ?

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, That the blest gods-as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities,-take thee from

me.

Cres. Have the gods envy?

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.
Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Tro. A hateful truth.

Cres. What, and from Troilus too?
Tro. From Troy and Troilus.
Cres. Is it possible?

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vow
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath:
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste,
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how:
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

Enc. [within.] My lord! is the lady ready?
Tro. Hark! you are call'd: some say, the

Genius so

Crics, Come! to him that instantly must die.Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root! [exit.

Cres. I must then to the Greeks?
Tro. No remedy.

While others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper

crowns,

With truth and plainness I do wear mire bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is-plain, and true, there's all the reach of it.

Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and Greeks!

When shall we see again?

Tro. Hear me, my love :-Be thou but true of heart,

Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem is this?

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us :

I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee;
For I will throw my glove to death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy heart:
But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation; be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to
dangers

As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true. Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you?

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,

To give thee nightly visitation.

But yet, be true.

Cres. O heavens!-be true, again?

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love:

The Grecian youths are full of quality:

Diomedes.

Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady,
Which for Antenor we deliver you:
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand;
And, by the way, possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Dio. Fair lady Cressid,

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects :
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.
Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee,
In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises,
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I'll cut thy throat.

Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus :
Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message,
To be a speaker free; when I am hence,
I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord,

They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth

nature flowing,

And swelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy

(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,)
Makes me afeard.

Cres. O heavens! you love me not.
Tro. Die I a villain then!

In this I do not call your faith in question,
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,

To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant:

But I can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil,
That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.
Cres. Do you think, I will?

Tro. No.

But something may be done, that we will not:
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.

Ene. [within.] Nay, good, my lord!-
Tro. Come, kiss; and let us part.
Par. [within.] Brother Troilus!
Tro. Good brother, come you hither;

And bring Æneas, and the Grecian, with you.
Cres. My lord, will you be true?

Tro. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault:

She shall be priz'd; but that you say-be't so,
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour,-no.

Tro. Come, to the port - I'll tell thee, Diomed,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.-
Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.

[exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomedes. Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. [trumpet heard. Ene. How have we spent this morning! The prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field. Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with him.

Dei. Let us make ready straight.

Ene. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, Let us address to tend on Hector's heels: The glory of our Troy doth this day lie On his fair worth, and single chavilry. [exeunt.

SCENE V. THE GRECIAN CAMP. LISTS SET OUT.

Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patro. clus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,

Anticipating time with starting courage.
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant,
And hale him hither.

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:

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