Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: W. L. Godshalk
Peer Reviewed

Troilus and Cressida (Folio 1, 1623)


Enter Troylus and Cressida.
Troy. Deere trouble not your selfe: the morne is cold.
Cres. Then sweet my Lord, Ile call mine Vnckle down;
He shall vnbolt the Gates.
2260Troy. Trouble him not:
To bed, to bed: sleepe kill those pritty eyes,
And giue as soft attachment to thy sences,
As Infants empty of all thought.
Cres. Good morrow then.
2265Troy. I prithee now to bed.
Cres. Are you a weary of me?
Troy. O Cressida! but that the busie day
Wak't by the Larke, hath rouz'd the ribauld Crowes,
And dreaming night will hide our eyes no longer:
2270I would not from thee.
Cres. Night hath beene too briefe.
Troy. Beshrew the witch! with venemous wights she
As hidiously as hell; but flies the graspes of loue,
With wings more momentary, swift then thought:
2275You will catch cold, and curse me.
Cres. Prithee tarry, you men will neuer tarry;
O foolish Cressid, I might haue still held off,
And then you would haue tarried. Harke, ther's one vp?
Pand. within. What's all the doores open here?
2280Troy. It is your Vnckle.
Enter Pandarus.
Cres. A pestilence on him: now will he be mocking:
I shall haue such a life.
Pan. How now, how now? how goe maiden-heads?
Heare you Maide: wher's my cozin Cressid?
2285Cres. Go hang your self, you naughty mocking Vnckle:
You bring me to doo----and then you floute me too.
Pan. To do what? to do what? let her say what:
What haue I brought you to doe?
Cres. Come, come, beshrew your heart: youle nere be
2290good, nor suffer others.
Pan. Ha, ha: alas poore wretch: a poore Chipochia, hast
not slept to night? would he not (a naughty man) let it
sleepe: a bug-beare take him.
One knocks.
Cres. Did not I tell you? would he were knockt ith'
2295head. Who's that at doore? good Vnckle goe and see.
My Lord, come you againe into my Chamber:
You smile and mocke me, as if I meant naughtily.
Troy. Ha, ha.
Cre. Come you are deceiu'd, I thinke of no such thing.
2300How earnestly they knocke: pray you come in.
Knocke.
I would not for halfe Troy haue you seene here.
Exeunt
Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beate
downe the doore? How now, what's the matter?
Æne. Good morrow Lord, good morrow.
2305Pan. Who's there my Lord Æneas? by my troth I
knew you not: what newes with you so early?
Æne. Is not Prince Troylus here?
Pan. Here? what should he doe here?
Æne. Come he is here, my Lord, doe not deny him:
2310It doth import him much to speake with me.
Pan. Is he here say you? 'tis more then I know, Ile be
sworne: For my owne part I came in late: what should
he doe here?
Æne. Who, nay then: Come, come, youle doe him
2315wrong, ere y'are ware: youle be so true to him, to be
false to him: Doe not you know of him, but yet goe fetch
him hither, goe.
Enter Troylus.
Troy. How now, what's the matter?
2320Æne. My Lord, I scarce haue leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash: there is at hand,
Paris your brother, and Deiphœbus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Anthenor
Deliuer'd to vs, and for him forth-with,
2325Ere the first sacrifice, within this houre,
We must giue vp to Diomeds hand
The Lady Cressida.
Troy. Is it concluded so?
Æne. By Priam, and the generall state of Troy,
2330They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Troy. How my atchieuements mocke me;
I will goe meete them: and my Lord Æneas,
We met by chance; you did not finde me here.
Æn. Good, good, my Lord, the secrets of nature
2335Haue not more gift in taciturnitie.
Exennt.
Enter Pandarus and Cressid.
Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got but lost: the diuell
take Anthenor; the yong Prince will goe mad: a plague
vpon Anthenor; I would they had brok's necke.
2340Cres. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan. Ah, ha!
Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? wher's my Lord?
gone? tell me sweet Vnckle, what's the matter?
Pan. Would I were as deepe vnder the earth as I am
2345aboue.
Cres. O the gods! what's the matter?
Pan. Prythee get thee in: would thou had'st nere been
borne; I knew thou would'st be his death. O poore Gen-
tleman: a plague vpon Anthenor.
2350Cres. Good Vnckle I beseech you, on my knees, I be-
seech you what's the matter?
Pan. Thou must be gone wench, thou must be gone;
thou art chang'd for Anthenor: thou must to thy Father,
and be gone from Troylus: 'twill be his death: 'twill be
2355his baine, he cannot beare it..
Cres. O you immortall gods! I will not goe.
Pan. Thou must.
Cres. I will not Vnckle: I haue forgot my Father:
I know no touch of consanguinitie:
2360No kin, no loue, no bloud, no soule, so neere me,
As the sweet Troylus: O you gods diuine!
Make Cressids name the very crowne of falshood!
If euer she leaue Troylus: time, orce and death,
Do to this body what extremitie you can;
2365But the strong base and building of my loue,
Is as the very Center of the earth,
Drawing all things to it. I will goe in and weepe.
Pan. Doe, doe.
Cres. Teare my bright heire, and scratch my praised
2370cheekes,
Cracke my cleere voyce with sobs, and breake my heart
With sounding Troylus. I will not goe from Troy.
Exeunt.