Internet Shakespeare Editions

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

Troilus and Cressida (Quarto 1, 1609)


Enter Troylus and Cresseida.
Troy. Deere, trouble not your selfe, the morne is colde.
Cres. Then sweet my Lord ile call mine vnckle downe,
Hee shall vnbolt the gates.
2260Troyl. 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.
2265Troyl. I prithee now to bed.
Cres. Are you a weary of me?
Troyl. O Cresseida! but that the busie day,
Wak't by the Larke hath rouzd the ribald Crowes,
And dreaming night will hide our ioyes no longer,
2270I would not from thee.
Cres. Night hath beene too briefe.
Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venemous wights she staies
As tediously as hell, But flies the graspes of loue,
With wings more momentary swift then thought,
2275You will catch colde and curse me.
Cres. Prithee tarry, you men will neuer tarry,
O foolish Cresseid, I might haue still held of,
And then you would haue tarried. Harke ther's one vp.
Pand. Whats all the doorcs open heere?
2280Troyl. It is your Vncle.
Cres. A pestilence on him: now will he be mocking:
I shall haue such a life.
Pand. How now, how now, how go maiden-heads,
Heere you maide, where's my cozin Cresseid?
2285Cres. Go hang your selfe, you naughty mocking vncle,
You bring me to doo---and then you floute me to.
Pand. 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 good,
2290nor suffer others.
Pand. Ha, ha: alas poore wretch: a poore chipochia, hast
not slept tonight? would hee not (a naughty man) let it
sleepe, a bug-beare take him.
Cres. Did not I tell you? would he were knockt ith' head,
2295Who's that at doore, good vnckle go and see.
One knocks.
My Lord, come you againe into my chamber,
You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
Troyl. Ha, ha.
Cres. Come you are deceiued, I thinke of no such thing,
2300How earnestly they knock, pray you come in.
Knock.
I would not for halfe Troy haue you seene here,
Exeunt.
Pand. 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.
2305Pand. Who's there my Lord Æneas: by my troth I knew
you not: what newes with you so early?
Æne. Is not Prince Troylus heere?
Pand. Here, what should he do here?
Æne. Come he is here, my Lord, do not deny him,
2310It doth import him much to speake with me.
Pan. Is he here say you? its more then I know ile be sworne
For my owne part I came in late: what should hee doe
here?
Æne. Who, nay then! Come. come, youle do him wrong,
2315ere you are ware, youle be so true to him, to be false to him:
Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go.
Troyl. How now, whats 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 Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Anthenor
Deliuer'd to him, and forth-with,
2325Ere the first sacrifice, within this houre,
We must giue vp to Diomedes hand
The Lady Cresseida.
Troyl. Is it so concluded?
Æne. By Priam and the generall state of Troy,
2330They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Troyl. How my atchiuements mock me,
I will go meete them: and my Lord Æneas,
We met by chance, you did not finde me here.
Æn. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbor Pandar
2335Haue not more guift in taciturnitie.
Exeunt.
Pand. Ist possible: no sooner got but lost, the diuell take
Anthenor, the young Prince will go madde, a plague vpon
Anthenor. I would they had brok's neck.
2340 Enter Cress. How now? what's the matter? who was heere?
Pand. Ah, ah!
Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly, wher's my Lord? gone?
tell me sweete Vncle, whats the matter.
Pan. Would I were as deepe vnder the earth as I am aboue.
Cres. O the Gods, whats the matter?
Pand. Pray thee get thee in: would thou hadst nere been
borne, I knew thou wouldest be his death. O poore Gentle-
man, a plague vpon Anthenor.
2350Cres. Good vnckle, I beseech you on my knees, whats the
matter?
Pand. Thou must be gone wench, thou must be gone: thou
art chang'd for Anthenor. Thou must to thy father and bee
gone from Troylus, twill be his death, twill bee his bane, hee
2355cannot beare it.
Cres. O you immortall Gods, I will not go.
Pand. Thou must.
Cres. I will not Vncle. I haue forgot my father,
I know no touch of consanguinitie,
2360No kinne, no loue, no bloud, no soule so neere me
As the sweete Troylus. O you gods diuine,
Make Cresseids name the very crowne of falsehood,
If euer she leaue Troylus. Time, force and death,
Do to this body what extreames you can:
2365But the strong base, and building of my loue,
Is as the very center of the earth,
Drawing all things to it. Ile go in and weepe.
Pand. Do, do.
Cres. Teare my bright haire, & scratch my praised cheekes,
Crack my cleare voyce with sobs, and breake my heart,
With sounding Troylus: I will not go from Troy.