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Troilus and Cressida (Quarto 1, 1609)

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: W. L. Godshalk
Peer Reviewed
Enter Pandarus and Troylus.
35Troy.CAll heere my varlet, Ile vnarme againe,
Why should I warre without the walls of Troy:
That finde such cruell battell here within,
Each Troyan that is maister of his heart,
40Let him to field Troylus alas hath none.
Pan. Will this geere nere be mended?
Troy. The Greeks are strong and skilfull to their strength
Fierce to their skill, and to their fiercenesse valiant,
But I am weaker then a womans teare;
45Tamer then sleepe; fonder then ignorance,
Lesse valiant then the Virgin in the night,
And skillesse as vnpractiz'd infancy:
Pan. Well, I haue told you enough of this; for my part ile
not meddle nor make no farther; hee that will haue a cake
50out of the wheate must tarry the grynding.
Tro. Haue I not tarried?
Pan. I the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting.
Troy. Haue I not tarried?
55Paude. I the boulting; but you must tarry the leauening.
Troy. Still haue I tarried.
Pan. I, to the leauening, but heares yet in the word here-
after, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating the
ouen, and the baking, nay you must stay the cooling too, or
60yea may chance burne your lippes.
Troy. Pacience her selfe, what Godesse ere she be,
Doth lesser blench at suffrance then I do:
At Priams royall table do I sit
And when faire Cressid comes into my thoughts,
65So traitor then she comes when she is thence.
Pand. Well shee lookt yesternight fairer then euer I saw her
looke, or any woman els.
Troy. I was about to tell thee when my heart,
70As wedged with a sigh would riue in twaine,
Least Hector or my father should perceiue mee:
I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a scorne)
Buried this sigh in wrincle of a smyle,
But sorrow that is coucht in seeming gladnesse,
75Is like that mirth fate turnes to suddaine sadnesse.
Pan: And her haire were not some-what darker then Hel-
lens, well go to, there were no more comparison betweene
the women! but for my part she is my kinswoman, I would
not as they tearme it praise her, but I would som-body had
80heard her talke yester-day as I did, I will not dispraise your
sister Cassandræs wit, but-------
Troy. Oh Pandarus I tell thee Pandarus,
When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd
Reply not in how many fadomes deepe,
85They lie indrench'd, I tell thee I am madde:
In Cressi}ds love? thou answerst she is faire,
Powrest in the open vlcer of my heart:
Her eyes, her haire her cheeke, her gate, her voice,
Handlest in thy discourse: O that her hand
90In whose comparison all whites are ynke
Writing their owne reproch; to whose soft seisure,
The cignets downe is harsh, and spirit of sence:
Hard as the palme of plow-man; this thou telst me,
As true thou telst me, when I say I loue her,
95But saying thus in steed of oyle and balme,
Thou layst in euery gash that loue hath giuen mee
The knife that made it.
Pan: I speake no more then truth.
Troy. Thou dost not speake so much.
100Pan: Faith Ile not meddle in it, let her bee as shee is, if she
bee faire tis the better for her, and shee bee not, she has the
mends in her owne hands.
Troy. Good Pandarus, how now Pandarus?
Pan: I haue had my labour for my trauell, ill thought on
105of her, and ill thought of you, gon betweene and betweene,
but small thanks for my labour.
Troy. What art thou angry Pandarus? what with me?
Pan. Because shee's kin to me therefore shee's not so faire
as Hellen, and she were kin to me, she would be as faire a Fri-
110day as Hellen, is on Sunday, but what I? I care not and shee
were a blackeamore, tis all one to mee.
Troy. Say I she is not faire?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no, she's a foole to
stay behinde her father, let her to the Greekes, and so Ile tell
her the next time I see her for my part Ile meddle nor make
no more ith'matter.
Troy. Pandarus. Pan. Not I.
Troy. Sweete Pandarus.
120Pan. Pray you speake no more to mee I will leaue all as I
found it and there an end.
Exit.
Sound alarum.
Troy. Peace you vngracious clamors, peace rude sounds,
Fooles on both sides, Helleu must needes be faire,
125When with your bloud you daylie paint her thus,
I cannot fight vpon this argument:
It is too staru'd a subiect for my sword,
But Pandarus: O gods! how do you plague me
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar,
130And he's as teachy to be wood to woe,
As she is stubborne, chast, against all suite.
Tell me Apollo for thy Daphues loue
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we:
Her bed is India there she lies, a pearle,
135Betweene our Ilium, and where shee reides
Let it be cald the wild and wandring flood:
Our selfe the Marchant, and this sayling Pandar,
Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our barke.
Alarum Enter Æneas.
140Æne. How now prince Troylus, wherefore not afield.
Troy. Because not there; this womans answer sorts,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What newes Æneas from the field to day?
145Æne. That Paris is returned home and hurt.
Troy. By whom Æneas?
Æne. Troylus by Menelaus.
Troy. Let Paris bleed tis but a scar to scorne,
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus horne.
Alarum.
150Æne. Harke what good sport is out of towne to day.
Troy. Better at home, if would I might were may:
But to the sport abrode are you bound thither?
Æne. In all swift hast.
Troy. Come goe wee then togither.
Exeunt.