Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Troilus and Cressida (Modern)
  • 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 (Modern)

    Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, and Deiphobus.
    Stand, ho. Yet are we masters of the field;
    Never go home; here starve we out the night.
    Enter Troilus.
    Hector is slain.
    All [Trojans]
    Hector? The gods forbid.
    He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail,
    In beastly sort, dragged through the shameful field.
    Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed.
    Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.
    I say: "at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
    3545And linger not our sure destructions on."
    My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
    You understand me not, that tell me so.
    I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
    But dare all imminence that gods and men
    3550Address their dangers in. Hector is gone.
    Who shall tell Priam so? Or Hecuba?
    Let him that will a screech-owl aye be called,
    Go in to Troy, and say there, "Hector's dead."
    There is a word will Priam turn to stone,
    3555Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
    Cool statues of the youth, and, in a word,
    Scare Troy out of itself. But march away.
    Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
    Stay yet. -- You vile abominable tents
    3560Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
    Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
    I'll through and through you; and, thou great-sized coward,
    No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
    I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
    3565That moldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.
    Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go.
    Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
    Enter Pandarus.
    But hear you? Hear you?
    Hence, broker-lackey, ignomy and shame
    Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name.
    Exeunt [all but Pandarus].
    A goodly medicine for mine aching bones. O world, world, world. Thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and 3575how ill requited. Why should our endeavor be so desired, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see:
    Full merrily the humble bee doth sing,
    Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting.
    3580And being once subdued in armèd tail,
    Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
    Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths:
    As many as be here of Pander's hall,
    Your eyes half out, weep out at Pandar's fall,
    3585Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
    Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
    Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
    Some two months hence, my will shall here be made.
    It should be now, but that my fear is this:
    3590Some gallèd Goose of Winchester would hiss.
    Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases,
    And at that time bequeath you my diseases.