Act I. Scene
Act I. Scene I.Troy. Before PRIAM'S Palace.
Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! has none.
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skilless as unpractis'd infancy.
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this:
for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further.
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must
tarry the grinding.
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the
Tro. Still have I tamed.
Pan. Ay, to the leavening; 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.
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor! 'when she comes'!When is she
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than
ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
Tro. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, 37
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I haveas when the sun doth light a storm
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile;
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming glad-
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
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 sister Cassandra's wit, but
Tro. 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 Cressid'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;
Handiest in thy discourse, O! that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given
The knife that made it.
Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. 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
Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!
Pan. I have had my labour for my travail;
ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you:
gone between, and between, but small thanks for
Tro. What! art thou angry, Pandarus? what!
Pan. Because she's 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-moor; 'tis all one to me.
Tro. 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' the matter.
Pan. Not I.
Tro. Sweet Pandarus,
Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me! I will
leave all as I found it, and there an end.
[Exit PANDARUS. An alarum.
Tro, Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace,
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 Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium and where she resides
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.
Alarum. Enter ÆNEAS.
Æne. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore
Tro. Because not there: this woman's answer
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?
Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tro. 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
Tro. Better at home, if 'would I might' were
But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?
Æne. In all swift haste.
Tro. Come, go we then together.