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  • Title: Troilus and Cressida (Quarto 1, 1609)
  • 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 (Quarto 1, 1609)

    The history
    I with great truth catch mere simplicity,
    Whilst some with cunning guild their copper crownes,
    With truth and plainesse I do were mine bare:
    2500Feare not my truth, the morrall of my wit,
    Is plaine and true? ther's all the reach of it,
    Welcome sir Diomed, here is the Lady,
    Which for Antenor we deliuer you.
    At the port (Lord) Ile giue her to thy hand,
    2505And by the way possesse thee what she is
    Entreate her faire, and by my soule faire Greeke,
    If ere thou stand at mercy of my sword:
    Name Cressid, and thy life shalbe as safe,
    As Priam is in Illion?
    2510Diom. Faire Ladie Cressid,
    So please you saue the thankes this Prince expects:
    The lustre in your eye, heauen in your cheeke,
    Pleades your faire vsage, and to Diomed,
    You shalbe mistres, and command him wholy.
    2515Troy. Grecian thou do'st not vse me curteously,
    To shame the seale of my petition to thee:
    In praising her. I tell thee Lord of Greece,
    She is as farre high soaring ore thy praises:
    As thou vnworthy to be call'd her seruant,
    2520I charge thee vse her well, euen for my charge:
    For by the dreadfull Pluto, if thou dost not,
    Though the great bulke Achilles be thy guard,
    Ile cut thy throate.
    Diom. Oh be not mou'd Prince Troylus,
    2525Let me be priueledg'd by my place and message:
    To be a speaker free? when I am hence,
    Ile answer to my lust, and know you Lord
    Ile nothing do on charge, to her owne worth,
    Shee shalbe priz'd: but that you say be't so,
    2530I speake it in my spirit and honour no.
    Troy. Come to the port Ile tel thee Diomed,
    This braue shall oft make thee to hide thy head,
    Lady giue me your hand, and as we walke,
    To our owne selues bend we our needfull talke.