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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.
    3525Sold. Achilles, Achilles, Hector's slaine, Achilles.
    Dio. The bruite is, Hector's slaine, and by Achilles.
    Aia. If it be so, yet braglesse let it be:
    Great Hector was a man as good as he.
    Agam. March patiently along; let one be sent
    3530To pray Achilles see vs at our Tent.
    If in his death the gods haue vs befrended,
    Great Troy is ours, and our sharpe wars are ended.
    Exeunt.
    Enter AEneas, Paris, Anthenor and Deiphoebus.
    3535AEne. Stand hoe, yet are we maisters of the field,
    Neuer goe home; here starue we out the night.
    Enter Troylus.
    Troy. Hector is slaine.
    All. Hector? the gods forbid.
    3540Troy. Hee's dead: and at the murtherers Horses taile,
    In beastly sort, drag'd through the shamefull Field.
    Frowne on you heauens, effect your rage with speede:
    Sit gods vpon your throanes, and smile at Troy.
    I say at once, let your briefe plagues be mercy,
    3545And linger not our sure destructions on.
    AEne. My Lord, you doe discomfort all the Hoste.
    Troy. You vnderstand me not, that tell me so:
    I doe not speake of flight, of feare, of death,
    But dare all imminence that gods and men,
    3550Addresse their dangers in. Hector is gone:
    Who shall tell Priam so? or Hecuba?
    Let him that will a screechoule aye be call'd,
    Goe in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
    There is a word will Priam turne to stone;
    3555Make wels, and Niobes of the maides and wiues;
    Coole statues of the youth: and in a word,
    Scarre Troy out of it selfe. But march away,
    Hector is dead: there is no more to say.
    Stay yet: you vile abhominable Tents,
    3560Thus proudly pight vpon our Phrygian plaines:
    Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
    Ile through, and through you; & thou great siz'd coward:
    No space of Earth shall sunder our two hates,
    Ile haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
    3565That mouldeth goblins swift as frensies thoughts.
    Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort goe:
    Hope of reuenge, shall hide our inward woe.
    Enter Pandarus.
    Pand. But heare you? heare you?
    3570Troy. Hence broker, lackie, ignomy, and shame
    Pursue thy life, and liue aye with thy name. Exeunt.
    Pan. A goodly medcine for mine aking bones: oh world,
    world, world! thus is the poore agent dispisde: Oh trai-
    tours and bawdes; how earnestly are you set aworke, and
    3575how ill requited? why should our indeuour be so desir'd,
    and the performance so loath'd? What Verse for it? what
    instance for it? let me see.
    Full merrily the humble Bee doth sing,
    Till he hath lost his hony, and his sting.
    3580And being once subdu'd in armed taile,
    Sweete hony, and sweete notes together faile.
    Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloathes;
    As many as be here of Panders hall,
    Your eyes halfe out, weepe out at Pandar's fall:
    3585Or if you cannot weepe, yet giue some grones;
    Though not for me, yet for your aking bones:
    Brethren and sisters of the hold-dore trade,
    Some two months hence, my will shall here be made:
    It should be now, but that my feare is this:
    3590Some galled Goose of Winchester would hisse:
    Till then, Ile sweate, and seeke about for eases;
    And at that time bequeath you my diseases. Exeunt.
    ¶¶¶
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