Internet Shakespeare Editions

Toolbox




Jump to line
Through Line Number
Help on texts
About this text
Print this page

About this text

  • Title: Troilus and Cressida (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: William Godshalk

    • ISBN: 1-55058-301-8

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: William Godshalk
    Peer Reviewed

    Troilus and Cressida (Folio 1, 1623)

    THE TRAGEDIE OF
    Troylus and Cressida.
    Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
    Enter Pandarus and Troylus.
    35Troylus.
    CAll here my Varlet, Ile vnarme againe.
    Why should I warre without the wals of Troy
    That finde such cruell battell here within?
    Each Troian that is master of his heart,
    40Let him to field, Troylus alas hath none.
    Pan. Will this geere nere be mended?
    Troy. The Greeks are strong, & skilful 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 vnpractis'd Infancie.
    Pan. Well, I haue told you enough of this: For my
    part, Ile not meddle nor make no farther. Hee that will
    50haue a Cake out of the Wheate, must needes tarry the
    grinding.
    Troy. Haue I not tarried?
    Pan. I the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
    Troy. Haue I not tarried?
    55Pan. I the boulting; but you must tarry the leau'ing.
    Troy. Still haue I tarried.
    Pan. I, to the leauening: but heeres yet in the word
    hereafter, the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the
    heating of the Ouen, and the Baking; nay, you must stay
    60the cooling too, or you may chance to burne your lips.
    Troy. Patience her selfe, what Goddesse ere she be,
    Doth lesser blench at sufferance, then I doe:
    At Priams Royall Table doe I sit;
    And when faire Cressid comes into my thoughts,
    65So (Traitor) then she comes, when she is thence.
    Pan. Well:
    She look'd yesternight fairer, then euer I saw her looke,
    Or any woman else.
    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 me:
    I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a-scorne)
    Buried this sigh, in wrinkle of a smile:
    But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladnesse,
    75Is like that mirth, Fate turnes to sudden sadnesse.
    Pan. And her haire were not somewhat darker then
    Helens, well go too, there were no more comparison be-
    tweene the Women. But for my part she is my Kinswo-
    man, I would not (as they tearme it) praise it, but I wold
    80some-body had heard her talke yesterday as I did: I will
    not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but---
    Troy. Oh Pandarus! I tell thee Pandarus;
    When I doe tell thee, there my hopes lye drown'd:
    Reply not in how many Fadomes deepe
    85They lye indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
    In Cressids loue. Thou answer'st she is Faire,
    Powr'st 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
    90(In whose comparison, all whites are Inke)
    Writing their owne reproach; to whose soft seizure,
    The Cignets Downe is harsh, and spirit of Sense
    Hard as the palme of Plough-man. This thou tel'st me;
    As true thou tel'st me, when I say I loue her:
    95But saying thus, instead of Oyle and Balme,
    Thou lai'st in euery gash that loue hath giuen me,
    The Knife that made it.
    Pan. I speake no more then truth.
    Troy. Thou do'st not speake so much.
    100Pan. Faith, Ile not meddle in't: Let her be as shee is,
    if she be faire, 'tis the better for her: and she be not, she
    ha's the mends in her owne hands.
    Troy. Good Pandarus: How now Pandarus?
    Pan. I haue had my Labour for my trauell, ill thought
    105on of her, and ill thought on of you: Gone betweene and
    betweene, but small thankes for my labour.
    Troy. What art thou angry Pandarus? what with me?
    Pan. Because she's Kinne to me, therefore shee's not
    so faire as Helen, and she were not kin to me, she would
    110be as faire on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what
    care I? I care not and she were a Black-a-Moore, 'tis all
    one to me.
    Troy. Say I she is not faire?
    Troy. I doe not care whether you doe or no. Shee's a
    115Foole to stay behinde her Father: Let her to the Greeks,
    and so Ile tell her the next time I see her: for my part, Ile
    meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.
    Troy. Pandarus? Pan. Not I.
    Troy. Sweete Pandarus.
    120Pan. Pray you speake no more to me, I will leaue all
    as I found it, and there an end. Exit Pand.
    Sound Alarum.
    Tro. Peace you vngracious Clamors, peace rude sounds,
    Fooles on both sides, Helen must needs be faire,
    125When with your bloud you daily 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 woo'd to woe,
    As she is stubborne, chast, against all suite.
    Tell me Apollo for thy Daphnes Loue
    What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we:
    Her bed is India, there she lies, a Pearle,
    135Between our Ilium, and where shee recides
    Let it be cald the wild and wandring flood,
    Our selfe the Merchant, and this sayling Pandar,
    Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our Barke.
    Alarum. Enter AEneas.
    140AEne. How now Prince Troylus?
    Wherefore not a field?
    Troy. Because not there; this womans answer sorts.
    For womanish it is to be from thence:
    What newes AEneas from the field to day?
    145AEne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
    Troy. By whom AEneas?
    AEne. Troylus by Menelaus.
    Troy. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to scorne.
    Paris is gor'd with Menelaus horne. Alarum.
    150AEne. Harke what good sport is out of Towne to day.
    Troy. Better at home, if would I might were may:
    But to the sport abroad, are you bound thither?
    AEne. In all swift hast.
    Troy. Come goe wee then togither. Exeunt.
    About
    Contact us
    Content quality
    Site guide
    © Internet Shakespeare Editions
    Copyright details
    Privacy policy
    This site is supported by:
    University of Victoria
    Friends of the ISE
    SSHRC