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  • 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)

    Troylus and Cressida.
    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
    Cracke my cleere voyce with sobs, and breake my heart
    With sounding Troylus. I will not goe from Troy. Exeunt.

    Enter Paris, Troylus, AEneas, Deiphebus, An-
    thenor and Diomedes.

    2375Par. It is great morning, and the houre prefixt
    Of her deliuerie to this valiant Greeke
    Comes fast vpon: good my brother Troylus,
    Tell you the Lady what she is to doe,
    And hast her to the purpose.
    2380Troy. Walke into her house:
    Ile bring her to the Grecian presently;
    And to his hand, when I deliuer her,
    Thinke it an Altar, and thy brother Troylus
    A Priest, there offring to it his heart.
    2385Par. I know what 'tis to loue,
    And would, as I shall pittie, I could helpe.
    Please you walke in, my Lords. Exeunt.

    Enter Pandarus and Cressid.
    Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.
    2390Cres. Why tell you me of moderation?
    The griefe is fine, full perfect that I taste,
    And no lesse in a sense as strong
    As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
    If I could temporise with my affection,
    2395Or brew it to a weake and colder pallat,
    The like alaiment could I giue my griefe:
    My loue admits no qualifying crosse; Enter Troylus.
    No more my griefe, in such a precious losse.
    Pan. Here, here, here, he comes, a sweet ducke.
    2400Cres. O Troylus, Troylus!
    Pan. What a paire of spectacles is here? let me em-
    brace too: oh hart, as the goodly saying is; O heart, hea-
    uie heart, why sighest thou without breaking? where he
    answers againe; because thou canst not ease thy smart by
    2405friendship, nor by speaking: there was neuer a truer rime;
    let vs cast away nothing, for we may liue to haue neede
    of such a Verse: we see it, we see it: how now Lambs?
    Troy. Cressid: I loue thee in so strange a puritie;
    That the blest gods, as angry with my fancie,
    2410More bright in zeale, then the deuotion which
    Cold lips blow to their Deities: take thee from me.
    Cres. Haue the gods enuie?
    Pan. I, I, I, I, 'tis too plaine a case.
    Cres. And is it true, that I must goe from Troy?
    2415Troy. A hatefull truth.
    Cres. What, and from Troylus too?
    Troy. From Troy, and Troylus.
    Cres. Ist possible?
    Troy. And sodainely, where iniurie of chance
    2420Puts backe leaue-taking, iustles roughly by
    All time of pause; rudely beguiles our lips
    Of all reioyndure: forcibly preuents
    Our lockt embrasures; strangles our deare vowes,
    Euen in the birth of our owne laboring breath.
    2425We two, that with so many thousand sighes
    Did buy each other, must poorely sell our selues,
    With the rude breuitie and discharge of our
    Iniurious time; now with a robbers haste
    Crams his rich theeuerie vp, he knowes not how.
    2430As many farwels as be stars in heauen,
    With distinct breath, and consign'd kisses to them,
    He fumbles vp into a loose adiew;
    And scants vs with a single famisht kisse,
    Distasting with the salt of broken teares. Enter AEneus.
    2435AEneas within. My Lord, is the Lady ready?
    Troy. Harke, you are call'd: some say the genius so
    Cries, come to him that instantly must dye.
    Bid them haue patience: she shall come anon.
    Pan. Where are my teares? raine, to lay this winde,
    2440or my heart will be blowne vp by the root.
    Cres. I must then to the Grecians?
    Troy. No remedy.
    Cres. A wofull Cressid 'mong'st the merry Greekes.
    Troy. When shall we see againe?
    2445Troy. Here me my loue: be thou but true of heart.
    Cres. I true? how now? what wicked deeme is this?
    Troy. Nay, we must vse expostulation kindely,
    For it is parting from vs:
    I speake not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
    2450For I will throw my Gloue to death himselfe,
    That there's no maculation in thy heart:
    But be thou true, say I, to fashion in
    My sequent protestation: be thou true,
    And I will see thee.
    2455Cres. O you shall be expos'd, my Lord to dangers
    As infinite, as imminent: but Ile be true.
    Troy. And Ile grow friend with danger;
    Weare this Sleeue.
    Cres. And you this Gloue.
    2460When shall I see you?
    Troy. I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels,
    To giue thee nightly visitation.
    But yet be true.
    Cres. O heauens: be true againe?
    2465Troy. Heare why I speake it; Loue:
    The Grecian youths are full of qualitie,
    Their louing well compos'd, with guift of nature,
    Flawing and swelling ore with Arts and exercise:
    How nouelties may moue, and parts with person.
    2470Alas, a kinde of godly iealousie;
    Which I beseech you call a vertuous sinne:
    Makes me affraid.
    Cres. O heauens, you loue me not!
    Troy. Dye I a villaine then:
    2475In this I doe not call your faith in question
    So mainely as my merit: I cannot sing,
    Nor heele the high Lauolt; nor sweeten talke;
    Nor play at subtill games; faire vertues all;