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)

    Troylus and Cressida.
    Which with my Cemitar Ile coole to morrow:
    Patroclus, let vs Feast him to the hight.
    Pat. Heere comes Thersites. Enter Thersites.
    2875Achil. How now, thou core of Enuy?
    Thou crusty batch of Nature, what's the newes?
    Ther. Why thou picture of what thou seem'st, & Idoll
    of Ideot-worshippers, here's a Letter for thee.
    Achil. From whence, Fragment?
    2880Ther. Why thou full dish of Foole, from Troy.
    Pat. Who keepes the Tent now?
    Ther. The Surgeons box, or the Patients wound.
    Patr. Well said aduersity, and what need these tricks?
    Ther. Prythee be silent boy, I profit not by thy talke,
    2885thou art thought to be Achilles male Varlot.
    Patro. Male Varlot you Rogue? What's that?
    Ther. Why his masculine Whore. Now the rotten
    diseases of the South, guts-griping Ruptures, Catarres,
    Loades a grauell i'th'backe, Lethargies, cold Palsies, and
    2890the like, take and take againe, such prepostrous discoue-
    ries.
    Pat. Why thou damnable box of enuy thou, what
    mean'st thou to curse thus?
    Ther. Do I curse thee?
    2895Patr. Why no, you ruinous But, you whorson indi-
    stinguishable Curre.
    Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle,
    immateriall skiene of Sleyd silke; thou greene Sarcenet
    flap for a sore eye, thou tassell of a Prodigals purse thou:
    2900Ah how the poore world is pestred with such water-flies,
    diminutiues of Nature.
    Pat. Out gall.
    Ther. Finch Egge.
    Ach. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
    2905From my great purpose in to morrowes battell:
    Heere is a Letter from Queene Hecuba,
    A token from her daughter, my faire Loue,
    Both taxing me, and gaging me to keepe
    An Oath that I haue sworne. I will not breake it,
    2910Fall Greekes, faile Fame, Honor or go, or stay,
    My maior vow lyes heere; this Ile obay:
    Come, come Thersites, helpe to trim my Tent,
    This night in banquetting must all be spent.
    Away Patroclus. Exit.
    2915Ther. With too much bloud, and too little Brain, these
    two may run mad: but if with too much braine, and too
    little blood, they do, Ile be a curer of madmen. Heere's
    Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loues
    Quailes, but he has not so much Braine as eare-wax; and
    2920the goodly transformation of Iupiter there his Brother,
    the Bull, the primatiue Statue, and oblique memoriall of
    Cuckolds, a thrifty shooing-horne in a chaine, hanging
    at his Brothers legge, to what forme but that he is, shold
    wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turne
    2925him too: to an Asse were nothing; hee is both Asse and
    Oxe; to an Oxe were nothing, hee is both Oxe and Asse:
    to be a Dogge, a Mule, a Cat, a Fitchew, a Toade, a Li-
    zard, an Owle, a Puttocke, or a Herring without a Roe,
    I would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would conspire
    2930against Destiny. Aske me not what I would be, if I were
    not Thersites: for I care not to bee the lowse of a Lazar,
    so I were not Menelaus. Hoy-day, spirits and fires.
    Enter Hector, Aiax, Agamemnon, Vlysses, Ne-
    stor, Diomed, with Lights.
    2935Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong.
    Aiax. No yonder 'tis, there where we see the light.
    Hect. I trouble you.
    Aiax. No, not a whit.
    Enter Achilles.
    2940Vlys. Heere comes himselfe to guide you?
    Achil. Welcome braue Hector, welcome Princes all.
    Agam. So now faire Prince of Troy, I bid goodnight,
    Aiax commands the guard to tend on you.
    Hect. Thanks, and goodnight to the Greeks general.
    2945Men. Goodnight my Lord.
    Hect. Goodnight sweet Lord Menelaus.
    Ther. Sweet draught: sweet quoth-a? sweet sinke,
    sweet sure.
    Achil. Goodnight and welcom, both at once, to those
    2950that go, or tarry.
    Aga. Goodnight.
    Achil. Old Nestor tarries, and you too Diomed,
    Keepe Hector company an houre, or two.
    Dio. I cannot Lord, I haue important businesse,
    2955The tide whereof is now, goodnight great Hector.
    Hect. Giue me your hand.
    Ulys. Follow his Torch, he goes to Chalcas Tent,
    Ile keepe you company.
    Troy. Sweet sir, you honour me.
    2960Hect. And so good night.
    Achil. Come, come, enter my Tent. Exeunt.
    Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted Rogue, a
    most vniust Knaue; I will no more trust him when hee
    leeres, then I will a Serpent when he hisses: he will spend
    2965his mouth & promise, like Brabler the Hound; but when
    he performes, Astronomers foretell it, that it is prodigi-
    ous, there will come some change: the Sunne borrowes
    of the Moone when Diomed keepes his word. I will ra-
    ther leaue to see Hector, then not to dogge him: they say,
    2970he keepes a Troyan Drab, and vses the Traitour Chalcas
    his Tent. Ile after---Nothing but Letcherie? All
    incontinent Varlets. Exeunt
    Enter Diomed.
    Dio. What are you vp here ho? speake?
    2975Chal. Who cals?
    Dio. Diomed, Chalcas (I thinke) wher's you Daughter?
    Chal. She comes to you.
    Enter Troylus and Vlisses.
    Vlis. Stand where the Torch may not discouer vs.
    2980Enter Cressid.
    Troy. Cressid comes forth to him.
    Dio. How now my charge?
    Cres. Now my sweet gardian: harke a word with you.
    Troy. Yea, so familiar?
    2985Vlis. She will sing any man at first sight.
    Ther. And any man may finde her, if he can take her
    life: she's noted.
    Dio. Will you remember?
    Cal. Remember? yes.
    2990Dio. Nay, but doe then; and let your minde be cou-
    pled with your words.
    Troy. What should she remember?
    Vlis. List?
    Cres. Sweete hony Greek, tempt me no more to folly.
    2995Ther. Roguery.
    Dio. Nay then.
    Cres. Ile tell you what.
    Dio. Fo, fo, eome tell a pin, you are a forsworne.-----
    Cres. In faith I cannot: what would you haue me do?
    3000Ther. A iugling tricke, to be secretly open.
    Dio. What did you sweare you would bestow on me?
    Cres. I prethee do not hold me to mine oath,
    Bid me doe not any thing but that sweete Greeke.
    Dio. Good
    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