Helen, Wife to Menelaus.
Andromache, Wife to Hector.

Cassandra, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetefs.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas.

Alexander, Cressida's Servant.
Boy, Page to Troilus.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other Attendants. SCENE, Troy; and the Grecian Camp, before it.

The Editions of this Play are,
Quarto. 1609. G. Eld. for
R. Boniand and H. Whalley.
2. Quarto. No date. G. Eld.

1

for R. Boniand and H. Whalley. I have the Folio and first Quarto. The Folio is the cor rected and complete copy.

1

TROILUS and CRESSIDA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

C

The Palace in Troy.

Enter Pandarus and Troilus.

TROILUS.

ALL here my varlet. I'll unarm again.
Why should I war without the walls of
That find such cruel battle here within ?

Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ?

Troy,

1

Troi. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their

strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant. But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 3 And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this. For my part, I'll not meddle or make any further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must needs tarry the grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting.

Trci. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leav'ning.

Troi. Still have I tarried.

Pan: Ay, to the leav'ning; but here's yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Troi. Patience herself, what Goddess ere she be,
Doth leffer blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I fit,

And when fair Creffid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor! when the comes! When is the thence?
Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever
I faw her look, or any woman elfe.

Troi. I was about to tell thee, when my heart,
As wedged with a figh, would rive in twain,

-fonder than ignorance; Fonder, for more childish.

WARBURTON.

3 And skill-lefs, &c.] Mr. Dry den, in his alteration of this play,

has taken this speech as it stands, except that he has changed hillless to artless, not for the better, because skill-less refers to skill and skilful.

Left

Left Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have, as when the fun doth light a storm,
-Buried the figh in wrinkle of a smile;
But forrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth Fate turns to sudden sadnefs.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's-well, go to, there were no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her. But I would, somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your filter Caffendra's wit, but,

Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus!
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Creffid's love. Thou answer'st, she is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair; her cheek, her gait, 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 cignet's down is harsh, 4 and spirit of fenfe

:

Creffid's hand, fays he, the spirit of sense, the utmost degree, the most exquisite power of sensibility, which implies a foft hand, fince the sense of touching, as Scaliger says in his Exercitations, refides chiefly in the fingers, is hard as the callous and infenfible palm of the ploughman. Hanmer reads, -to th' Spirit of sense.

It is not proper to make a lover profess to praise his mistress in spite of sense, for tho' he often does it in spite of the sense of others, his own senses are fubdued to his defires,

Hard

Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'st me, when I fay, I love her;
But saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'st, in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Troi. Thou dost not speak fo 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 fo fair as Helen; and she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care 1? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; '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 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 Alarm.

Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude

founds!

5 She has the mends.] She may mend her complexion by the affistance of cosmeticks.

Fools