Imatges de pÓgina

When I do tell thee, there my hopes lye drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lye intrench’d. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cresid's love. Thou answer'st, she is fair,
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart ;
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gate, her voice,
Handlest in thy discourse - O that! her hand!
(In whose comparison, all whites are ink
Writing their own reproach) to whose soft seizure
The cigner's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell’st me;
As true thou tell’ft me; when I say I love her:
But saying thus, instead. of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every galh that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Troi. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is, if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus ?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I: I care not an she were a black-a-more, 'tis all one to me.

Troi. Say I, she is not fair ?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and so I'll tell her the Vol. VI.



next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.

Troi. Pandarus
Pan. Not I.
Troi. Sweet Pandarus

Pan. Pray you speak no more to me, I will leave all as I found it, and there's an end.

(Exit Pandarus.

[Sound Alarum. Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours, peace rude sounds, Fools on both sides. Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this Argument, It is too starv'd a subject for my sword: But Pandarus - O Gods! how do you plague me! I cannot come to Cresid, but by Pandarus; And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woe, As she is stubborn, chast, against all sute. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we: Her bed is India, there she lyes, a pearl ; Between our Ilium, and where she resides Let it be call’d the wild and wandring flood, Our self the merchant, and this failing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.



Enter Æneas.
Æne. How now Prince Troilus ? wherefore not i'th' field:

Troi. Because not there; this woman's answer forts,
For womanish it is to be from thence:
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

Troi. By whom, Æneas?
Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to scorn,
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Æne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day?

Troi. Better at home, if would I might, were may
But to the sport abroad. ---- are you bound thither ?

Æne. In all swift hafte.
Troi. Come, go we then together.

(Exeunt. SCENE III.

Enter Cressida and a Servant.
Cre. Who were those went by ?
Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cre. And whither go they?

Ser. Up to th’ eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the fight. Hector, whose patience
Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov’d:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer,
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harnest light,
And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw,
In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his cause of anger?

Ser. The noise goes thus; There is among the Greeks,
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector,
They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good, and what of him?
Ser. They say he is a very man per se, and stands alone.
Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.


B 2

Ser. This man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the lyon, churlish as the bear, Now as the elephant; a man into whom nature hath so crouded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the haik; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes

and no sight. Cre. But how should this man (that makes me smile) make HeEtor angry?

Ser. They say, he yesterday copd Hector in the battel and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fasting and waking.


Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?
Ser. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant man.
Ser. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?
Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of? + how do you, cousin ? when were you at llium?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? was Hector arm’d and gone, ereye came to Ilium? Helen was not up? was she?

Cre. Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.

Cre. + Good morrow Alexander is added in all the Editions very absurdly, Paris not being on the Stage


Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cre. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too: he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What, is he angry too?
Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better man of the two.
Cre. Oh Jupiter, there's no comparison.

Pan. What not between Troilus and Hector? do you know a man if


see him? Cre. Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well I say Troilus is Troilus. Cre. Then you say, as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees. Cre. 'Tis just to each of them, he is himself. Pan. Himself? alas poor Troilus! I would he were. Cre. So he is. Pan. Condition I had gone bare-foot to India. Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself, would he were himself; well, the gods are above, time must friend or end; well, Troilus, well, I would my heart were in her body ---- no, Hector is not a better man, than Troilus.

Cre. Excuse me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th’ other's not come to't, you shall tell me another tale when th’ other's come to’t: Hector shall not have his wit

this year.

Cre. He shall not need it, if he have his own,
Pan. Nor his Qualities,


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