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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)

    Enter Thersites: excursions.
    Thersi. Now they are clapper-clawing one another: Ile
    go looke on, that dissembling abhominable varlet Diomede.
    3335has got that same scuruie dooting foolish knaues sleeue of
    Troy there in his helme. I would faine see them meete, that
    that same young Troyan asse that loues the whore there,
    might send that Greekish whore-masterly villaine with the
    sleeue, back to the dissembling luxurious drabbe of a sleeue-
    3340lesse arrant. Ath' tother side, the pollicie of those craftie
    swearing raskalls; that stale old Mouse-eaten drye cheese
    Nestor: and that same dogge-foxe Ulisses, is not proou'd
    worth a Black-berry. They set mee vp in pollicie, that
    mongrill curre Aiax, against that dogge of as bad a
    3345kinde Achilles. And now is the curre Aiax, prouder then
    the curre Achilles, and will not arme to day. Where-vpon
    the Grecians began to proclaime barbarisme, and pollicie
    growes into an ill opinion. Soft here comes sleeue & tother.
    Troy. Flye not, for shouldst thou take the riuer Stix, I
    would swim after,
    Diomed. Thou doost miscall retire,
    I doe not flie, but aduantagious care,
    3355With-drew me from the ods of multitude, haue at thee?
    Ther. Hold thy whore Grecian: now for thy whore Troian,
    of Troylus and Cresseida.
    Now the sleeue, now the sleeue.
    Enter Hector.
    3360Hect. What art Greeke, art thou for Hectors match.
    Art thou of bloud and honour.
    Ther. No, no, I am a rascall, a scuruy rayling knaue, a very
    filthy roague.
    Hect. I do beleeue thee, liue.
    3365Ther. God a mercy, that thou wilt beleeue me, but a plague
    breake thy neck --- for frighting me: whats become of the
    wenching roagues? I thinke they haue swallowed one ano-
    ther. I would laugh at that miracle----yet in a sort lechery
    eates it selfe, ile seeke them. Exit.