TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. THE PROLOGUE. From isles of Greece IN Troy, there lies the scene. With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, up the sons of Troy. Sperr Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are: 19 Sperr = bolt. 10 20 30 A prologue arm'd. The person who spoke the prologue usually wore a black cloak, but in some cases a characteristic dress. Before battle plays it would seem that he wore armor. 2 tant van. ACT I. SCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM's palace. Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS. Tro. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again : Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength, But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, Less valiant than the virgin in the night And skilless as unpractis'd infancy. ΙΟ Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Pan. Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening. 20 Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word "hereafter" the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating. of the oven and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, So, traitor! "When she comes!" When is she thence? Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Tro. I was about to tell thee: when my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 31 Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's -well, go to—there were no more comparison between the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad In Cressid's love thou answer'st "She is fair;" Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me, Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me Pan. I speak no more than truth. Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 50 60 Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in 't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 't is the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus! Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour. 70 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she 's kin to me, therefore she 's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 't is all one to me. Tro. Say I she is not fair? Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i' th' matter. Tro. Pandarus, Pan. Not I. 80 29 An her hair were not somewhat darker, etc. Helen was a golden-haired blonde. "In the old age dark was not counted fair." Sonnet CXXVII. The beauty of dark eyes and hair in women is a modern discovery. Tro. Sweet Pandarus, Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit Pandarus. An alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument; It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. But Pandarus, — O gods, how do you plague me! Alarum. Enter ENEAS. Ene. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home and hurt. Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 't is but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. 90 100 [Alarum. Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! ΠΙΟ Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A street. Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER. Cres. Who were those went by? Queen Hecuba and Helen. Up to the eastern tower, Alex. Cres. And whither go they? Whose height commands as subject all the vale, And, like as there were husbandry in war, In Hector's wrath. Cres. What was his cause of anger? Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him Ajax. Cres. Good; and what of him? Alex. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone. 10 Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs. 18 Alex. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry? 30 Alex. They say he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking. Cres. Who comes here? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. Enter PANDARUS. Cres. Hector's a gallant man. Alex. As may be in the world, lady. Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 39 Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? you at Ilium? Cres. This morning, uncle. When were Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm'd and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? Cres. Hector was gone, but Helen was not up. 15 per se by himself. (Lat.) Ilium was the citadel of Troy; but Lydgate, having mistakenly made it Priam's palace, S. followed him. |