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In Troy, there lies the scene

>From isles of Greece, The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,

Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,

Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war

Sixty and nine, that wore their crownets regal from the Athenian bay,

Put forth toward Phrygia:

and their vow is made To ransack Troy,

within whose strong immures, The ravished Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps

And that's the quarrel

To Tenedos they come,

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage

Now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruisèd Greeks do pitch Their brave pavilions

Priam's six-gated city, With massy staples and fulfilling bolts,

Spar up the sons of Troy

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,

On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,

Sets all on hazard

And hither am I come,

To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,

Beginning in the middle:

starting thence away To what may be digested in a play

Like or find fault, do as your pleasures are:

Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war

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, hath none

Will this gear ne'er be mended?

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 sleep, fonder than ignorance,

Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skilless as unpractised infancy

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 needs tarry the grinding

Have I not tarried? - Ay, the grinding, but you must tarry the sifting

Have I not tarried? - Ay, the sifting, but you must tarry the leavening

Still have I tarried - Ay, the leavening,

but here's yet 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

Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at suff'rance 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 thence?

Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else

I was about to tell thee -

when my heart, As wedgèd with a sigh, would rive in twain,

Lest Hector or my father should perceive me -

I have, as when the sun doth light a scorn, Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile

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 -

O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drowned,

Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrenched

I tell thee I am mad in Cressid's love: Thou answerest she is fair,

Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice

This thou tell'st me, when I say I love her: But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou layest in every gash that love hath given me

The knife that made it

I speak no more than truth - Thou dost not speak so much

Faith, I'll not meddle in it. 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

Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus?

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 my labour

What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?

Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not as 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? 'Tis all one to me - Say I she is not fair?

I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her mother

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 in the matter

Pandarus... - Not I

Sweet Pandarus...

Faith you speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end

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 starved 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 wooed 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: and there she lies, a pearl

How now, Prince Troilus? Wherefore not afield?

Because not there

What news, Aeneas, from the field today?

Paris is returnèd home and hurt

By whom, Aeneas? - Troilus, by Menelaus

Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to scorn:

Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn

Hark, what good sport is out of town today!

Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may'

But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?

In all swift haste - Come, go we then together

Who were those went by?

Queen Hecuba and Helen - Whither go they?

Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale,

To see the battle

Hector, whose patience Is as a virtue fixed, today was moved

He chid Andromache and struck his armourer

What was his cause of anger?

The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector

They call him Ajax - Good, and what of him?

They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone

So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs

This man, lady, is as valiant as the lion,

as churlish as the bear, as slow as the elephant

But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

They say he yesterday coped Hector in the battle and struck him down,

the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking

Who comes here? - Madam, your uncle Pandarus

Hector's a gallant man - As may be in the world, lady

What's that? What's that? - Good morrow, uncle Pandarus

Good morrow, cousin Cressid.

What do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexandra

How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?

This morning, uncle - What were you talking of when I came?

Was Hector armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium?

Helen was not up, was she?

Hector was gone, but Helen was not up

E'en so: Hector was stirring early

That were we talking of, and of his anger

Was he angry? - So she says here

True, he was so: I know the cause too

He'll lay about him today, 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

What, is he angry too?

Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two

O Jupiter, there's no comparison

What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?

Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him

Well, I say Troilus...

...is Troilus

Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector

Well, Troilus, well. I would my heart were in her body.

No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus

Excuse me - He is elder

Pardon me, pardon me - You have no judgment, niece:

Helen herself praised his complexion above Paris

Why, Paris hath colour enough - So he has

Then Troilus should have too much

I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris

Then she's a merry Greek indeed

No, no, I'll be sworn she does. She came to him t'other day -

and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin

He is very young

And yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector

Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?

But to prove to you that Helen loves him,

she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin -

Juno have mercy! How came it cloven?

Well, you know, 'tis dimpled.

I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia

O, he smiles valiantly - Does he not?

O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn

Well, go to, then. But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,

I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin

She has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess -

Without the rack!

And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin

Alas, poor chin. Many a wart is richer

But there was such laughing!

Queen Hecuba laughed that her eyes ran o'er, and Cassandra laughed, and Hector laughed

At what was all this laughing?

Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin

An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too

Well, they laughed not so much at the hair but at his pretty answer

What was his answer?

Quoth she, 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white'

This was her question - Yes, that's true, make no question of that

'Two and fifty hairs', quoth he, 'and one white:

that white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons'

'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'Which of the hairs is Paris, my husband?'

'The forked one,' quoth he: 'pluck it out, and give it him'

O there was such laughing,

and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed,

and all the rest so laughed...

...that it passed

So let it now, for it has been a great while going by

Well, cousin. I told you a thing yesterday: think on't

So I do

I'll be sworn 'tis true: he will weep you, an 'twere a man born in April

And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May

Hark, they are coming from the field:

shall we stand up here and see them as they pass towards Ilium?

O good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida - At your pleasure

Yes, yes, here's an excellent place, here we may see most bravely

And I'll tell you them all by their names as they pass by,

but mark Troilus above the rest

Speak not so loud

That's Aeneas. Is not that a brave soldier? One of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you

But mark Troilus: you shall see him anon

Who's that?

That's Antenor: always a shrewd wit, I can tell you,

one of the soundest judgments in Troy

When comes Troilus?

I'll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me

Will he give you the nod? - You shall see

O there's Hector, that, that, look you, there's a fellow!

Go thy way, Hector!

O there's a man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks!

There's a countenance. Is't not a brave man? - O brave man!

Is a' not? It does a man's heart good.

Look you what hacks are on his helmet

Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there

There be no jesting, there be hacks!

Be those with swords?

Swords, anything, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one

By God's lid, it does one's heart good

O! Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris. Look ye yonder, niece

Is't not a gallant man too, is't not? Why, this is brave now

Who said he came hurt home today? He's not hurt.

Why, this will do Helen's heart good now

O admirable man

Who is that?

That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. I think he went not forth today. That's Helenus

Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Helenus? No. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well

O I marvel where Troilus is

Hark, do you not hear the people cry 'Troilus'?

Helenus is a priest

What sneaking fellow comes yonder? - O, yonder, that's Deiphobus

No, 'tis Troilus! There's a man, niece!

Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!

Peace, for shame, peace!

Mark him, him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece

Look how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector,

and how he looks, and how he goes.

O admirable youth! He ne'er saw three and twenty

Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way!

O, had I a sister were a grace,

or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice

O admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him

Here comes more

O, asses, fools, dolts

Chaff and bran, chaff and bran: porridge after meat

I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus

Ne'er look, ne'er look. The eagles are gone: crows and daws, crows and daws!

I had rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon or all Greece

There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus

Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel

Well, well - 'Well, well'?

Have you any discretion? Have you any eyes?

Do you know what a man is?

Is not birth, beauty, discourse,

manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue,

youth, liberality, and so forth,

the spice and salt that seasons a man?

Ay, a minced man

You are such another woman!

One knows not at what ward you lie

Upon my back, to defend my belly: upon my wit, to defend my wiles:

upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty: my mask, to defend my beauty:

and you, to defend all these

You are such another!

Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you

Where? - At your own house

Good wench, tell him I come. I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece

Adieu, uncle

I'll be with you, niece, by and by - To bring, uncle?

Ay, a token from Troilus

By the same token, you are a bawd

Words, vows, gifts, tears,

and love's full sacrifice,

He offers in another's enterprise

But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see

Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be

Yet hold I off

Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing

That she beloved knows naught that knows not this:

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is

Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:

'Achievement is command:

ungained, beseech'

That though my heart's contents firm love doth bear,

Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear

Princes!

What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?

The ample proposition that hope makes In all designs begun on earth below

Fails in the promised largeness

Checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest reared,

That we come short of our suppose so far

That after seven years' siege yet Troy's walls stand

Why then, you princes, Do you with cheeks abashed behold our works,

And think them shame, which are indeed naught else

But the protractive trials of great Jove

To find persistive constancy in men?

With due observance of thy godly seat, Great Agamemnon,

Nestor shall apply thy latest words

In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men:

the sea being smooth,

How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast,

making their way With those of nobler bulk!

But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold

The strong-ribbed bark through liquid mountains cut,

Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus' horse:

where's then the saucy boat

Whose weak untimbered sides but even now Co-rivalled greatness?

Either to harbour fled, Or made a toast for Neptune

Even so doth valour's show and valour's worth divide

In storms of fortune

And thus... - Agamemnon,

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,

Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit,

In whom the tempers and the minds of all Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks

Speak, prince of Ithaca

Troy, yet upon her basis, had been down,

And the great Hector's sword had lacked a master,

But for these instances

The specialty of rule hath been neglected:

And look how many Grecian tents do stand Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions

When that the general is not like the hive To whom the foragers shall all repair,

What honey is expected?

Degree being vizarded, Th'unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask

The heavens themselves, the planets and this our centre

Observe degree, priority and place,

And therefore is the glorious planet Sol

In noble eminence enthroned and sphered Amidst the others

But when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander,

What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, What raging of the sea, shaking of earth,

Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states

Quite from their fixture

O, when degree is shaked, Which is the ladder to all high designs,

The enterprise is sick

Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark!

What discord follows!

Each thing meets in mere oppugnancy

The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores

And make a sop of all this solid globe

Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead

Force should be right: or rather, right and wrong,

Between whose endless jar justice resides,

Should lose their names, and so should justice too.

Then everything includes itself in power,

Power into will, will into appetite, And appetite, an universal wolf,

Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,

this chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking

The general's disdained By him one step below, he by the next,

That next by him beneath: so every step,

Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior,

grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation

And 'tis this fever

keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews

To end a tale of length,

Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength

Most wisely hath Ulysses here discovered The fever whereof all our power is sick

The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,

What is the remedy?

The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host,

Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs

With him Patroclus upon a lazy bed the livelong day

Breaks scurril jests,

And with ridiculous and awkward action - Which, he, slanderer, imitation calls -

He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,

Thy topless deputation he puts on,

And, like a strutting player, He acts thy greatness in

And when he speaks, 'Tis like a chime a-mending

At this fusty stuff The large Achilles, on his pressed bed lolling,

>From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause,

Cries 'Excellent! 'Tis Agamemnon just'

'Now play me Nestor:

play me him, Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night alarm'

Oh I say...

And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age Must be the scene of mirth

At this sport Sir Valour dies: cries 'O, enough, Patroclus,'

'Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all In pleasure of my spleen'

And in this fashion,

All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, achiev--

Achievements, plots, what is or is not, must serve

As stuff for these two to make paradoxes

And in the imitation of these twain -

Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice - many are infect

Ajax is grown self-willed, and sets Thersites,

A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,

To match us in comparisons with dirt

They tax our policy, and call it cowardice, Count wisdom as no member of the war,

Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand

The still and mental parts, Why, this hath not a finger's dignity

They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war,

So that the ram that batters down the wall They place before his hand that made the engine

What trumpet?

Look, Menelaus

>From Troy

What would you 'fore our tent?

Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? - Even this

Which is that god in office, guiding men?

Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers

Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarmed,

As bending angels: that's their fame in peace

But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,

Good arms, strong joints, true swords

But peace, Aeneas, The worthiness of praise distains his worth,

If that the praised himself, bring the praise forth

So, you of Troy, call yourself Aeneas?

Ay, Greek, that is my name

What's your affair, I pray you?

Pray pardon, 'tis for Agamemnon's ears

Who hears naught privately that comes from Troy

Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, And then to speak

Speak frankly as the wind:

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour

That thou shalt know, Trojan, she is awake, She tells thee so herself

Trumpet, blow loud,

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents,

And every Greek of mettle, let him know

What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy

A prince called Hector - Priam is his father -

And in this stalemate dull and long drawn out,

Is rusty grown

He bade me take a trumpet, And to this purpose speak:

Kings, princes, lords!

If there be one amongst the fairest of Greece That holds his honour higher than his ease,

That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,

That loves his mistress more than in confession,

And dare avow her beauty and her worth

In other arms than hers - to him this challenge

Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,

Shall make it good,

or do his best to do it

He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,

Than ever Greek did compass in his arms,

And will tomorrow with his trumpet call

Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,

To rouse a Grecian that is true in love

If any come, Hector shall honour him:

If none,

he'll say in Troy when he retires,

The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth

The splinter of a lance. Even so much

This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas:

If none of them have soul in such a kind,

We left them all at home. But we are soldiers,

And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, That means not, hath not, or is not in love!

If then one is, or hath, or means to be,

That one meets Hector: if none else, I'll be she

Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire sucked

He is old now: But if there be not in our Grecian mould

One noble man that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, tell him from me,

I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver

And in my vantbrace put this withered brawn,

And meeting him will tell him my lady

Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste As may be in the world

His youth in flood, I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of blood

Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth! - Amen

Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand

Achilles shall have word of this intent

Yourself shall feast with us before you go,

And find the welcome of a noble foe

Nestor! - What says Ulysses?

I have a young conception in my brain:

Be you my time to bring it to some shape

What is't?

This 'tis: This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,

However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles

The purpose is perspicuous And, in the publication, make no strain,

But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya -

though, Apollo knows, 'tis dry enough -

will find great Hector's purpose Pointing on him

And wake him to the answer, think you?

Yes, 'tis most meet:

who may you else oppose

That can from Hector bring his honour off, if not Achilles?

Give pardon to my speech: Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector,

For both our honour and our shame in this Are dogged with two strange followers

I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?

What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should wear with him

But he already is too insolent,

And we were better parch in Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,

Should he scape Hector fair. No.

Make a lottery,

and by device let blockish Ajax draw

The lot to fight with Hector

Among ourselves Give him allowance as the worthier man,

For that will physic the great Myrmidon

If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,

Yet go we under our opinion still That we have better men

But, hit or miss,

Our project's life, this shape of sense assumes:

Ajax employed plucks down Achilles' plumes

Now, Ulysses, I relish thy advice

Two curs shall tame each other:

pride alone must spur the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone

Thersites!

Agamemnon!

Thersites!

How if she had boils, full, all over, generally?

Thersites! - And those boils did run? Say so:

Did not the general run then? Were not that a botchy core?

Dog!

Then there would come some matter from her: I see none now

Thou bitch-wolf's whelp, canst thou not hear? Feel, then

The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!

Toadstool, you learn me the proclamation

Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikes me thus?

The proclamation!

Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think

Do not, porcupine, do not: my fingers itch

I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee

I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece

I say, the proclamation!

Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles

Thou art full of envy at his greatness, that thou bark'st at him

Mistress Thersites!

Thou should'st strike him - Cobloaf!

He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit

You whoreson cur! - Ay, do, do

Thou stool for a witch!

Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord!

Thou hast no more brains than I have in mine elbows

Thou scurvy-valiant ass, thou art here but to thrash Trojans,

thou thing of no bowels, thou! - You dog!

Scurvy lord!

You cur!

Do, do!

Why, how now, Ajax? Wherefore do you this?

How now, Thersites? What's the matter, man?

You see him there, do you? - Ay, what's the matter?

Nay, look upon him - So I do: what's the matter?

Nay, but regard him well - Well, why, I do so

Nay, but you look not well upon him,

for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax

I know that, fool

Ay, but that fool knows not himself

Therefore I beat thee

This lord, Achilles - who wears his wit in his belly and his guts in his head -

I'll tell you what I say of him - What?

I say, this Ajax... - Nay, good Ajax

...has not so much wit as will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight

Peace, fool!

I would have peace and quietness,

but the fool will not: he there, look you there

O thou damned cur, I shall rip out-- - Good words, Thersites

What's the quarrel?

I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of the proclamation,

and she rails upon me

I serve thee not - Well, go to, go to

I serve here voluntary

Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary:

no man is beaten voluntary

E'en so. A great deal of your wit, too,

lies in your sinews, else there be liars

Hector shall have a great catch and he knock out either of your brains

He were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel

What, with me too, Thersites?

Ay, and there's Achilles and old Nestor,

whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes,

yoke you like draught-oxen and make you plough up the war

What? - Aye, good sooth. To, Achilles! To, Ajax, to!

I shall cut out your tongue

'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou afterwards

No more words, Thersites

I shall hold my peace when Achilles' bitch bids me, shall I?

There's for you, Patroclus

I'll see you hanged like clodpoles ere I come any more to your tents

I will keep where there is wit stirring and leave the faction of fools

A good riddance

Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host:

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,

Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy Tomorrow morning call some knight to arms

That hath a stomach, and such a one that dare

Maintain - I know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell

Farewell. Who shall answer him?

I know not: 'tis put to lottery, otherwise

He knew his man

O, meaning you?

I will go learn more of it

After so many hours,

lives, speeches spent,

Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:

'Deliver Helen, and all damage else - As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed

In hot digestion of this cormorant war -

Shall be struck off.'

Hector, what say you to it?

Let Helen go. - Brother...

Since the first sword was drawn about this question,

Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,

Hath been as dear as Helen - I mean, of ours

If we have lost so many tenths of ours To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us,

What merit's in that reason which denies The yielding of her up?

Fie, fie, my brother!

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king So great as our dread father,

in a scale of common ounces?

Fie, for godly shame!

No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them

Should not our father Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,

Because your speech hath none that tells him so?

You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest.

You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:

You know an enemy intends you harm, You know a sword employed is perilous

Well who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set

The very wings of reason to his heels,

And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star disorbed?

Nay, if we talk of reason, Let's shut our gates and sleep

Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost the holding

What's aught but as 'tis valued? - But value dwells not in particular will:

It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself

As in the prizer.

'Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god

It was thought meet Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks

Your breaths of full consent bellied his sails,

And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive He brought a Grecian queen,

whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's and makes stale the morning

Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt

Is she worth keeping?

Why, she is a pearl

Whose price hath launched above a thousand ships,

And turned crowned kings to merchants

If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went - As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go' -

If you'll confess he brought home noble prize -

Which you must needs, for you all clapped your hands

And cried 'Inestimable!' -

why do you now beggar the estimation which you prized

Richer than sea and land?

O, theft most base, That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!

Cry, Trojans, cry!

What noise? What shriek is this?

Our mad sister, I do know her voice

Cry, Trojans, cry! - It is Cassandra

Cry, Trojans!

Lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears

Peace, sister, peace!

Add to my clamour!

Troy must not be...

...nor goodly Ilium stand

Paris burns us all

Troy burns, or else let Helen go

Now, youthful Troilus,

do not these high strains of divination in our sister

work some touches of remorse?

Or is your blood So madly hot that no discourse of reason,

Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, Can qualify the same?

Why, brother Hector, Cassandra's mad

Her brain-sick raptures Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel

Which hath our several honours all engaged To make it gracious

Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings as your counsels:

But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension

and cut off all fears attending on so dire a project

Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties,

And had as ample power as I have will,

Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, Nor faint in the pursuit

Paris, you speak Like one besotted by your sweet delights

You have the honey still, but these the gall,

So to be valiant is no praise at all

Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it,

But I would have the soil of her fair rape Wiped off in honourable keeping her

What treason were it to the ransacked queen,

Now to deliver her possession up On terms of base compulsion!

Can it be that so degenerate a strain as this

Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?

There's not the meanest spirit on our party

Without a heart to dare or sword to draw When Helen is defended, nor none so noble

Whose life were ill bestowed or death unfamed

Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say,

Well may we fight for her whom, we know well, The world's large spaces cannot parallel

Paris and Troilus, you have both said well,

But on the cause and question now in hand Have glozed, but superficially,

not much unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought

Unfit to hear moral philosophy

The reasons you allege do more conduce To the hot passion of distempered blood

Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong

Nature craves All dues be rendered to their owners: now,

What nearer debt in all humanity Than wife is to the husband?

If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, As it is known she is,

these moral laws of nature and of nation speak aloud

To have her back returned

Thus to persist in doing wrong extenuates not wrong,

But makes it much more heavy

Hector's opinion is this in way of truth

Yet ne'ertheless, my spritely brethren,

I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still,

For 'tis a cause which hath no mean dependence

Upon our joint and several dignities

Why, there you touched the life of our design

She is a theme of honour and renown, A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,

Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame, in time to come, canonise us

I am yours

I have a roisting challenge sent amongst The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks

Shall strike amazement to their drowsy spirits

I was advertised their great general slept Whilst emulation in the army crept

This, I presume, will wake them

How now, Thersites? What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury?

Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, whilst I rail at him

O worthy satisfaction!

Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he railed at me

'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils,

but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations

And then there's Achilles, a rare engineer

If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it,

the walls will stand till they fall of themselves

O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,

forget that thou art Jove, king of the gods,

and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus,

if ye take not

that little, little, less than little wit from them that they have

And after that, vengeance on the whole camp!

Or, rather, the bone-ache,

for that, methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war for a placket

Well... I have said my prayers,

and the devil Envy say 'Amen'

What ho? My lord Achilles?

Who's there?

Thersites? Good Thersites, come in and rail

The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance,

be thine in great revenue! Amen

What, art thou devout? Wast thou in a prayer?

Ay, the heavens hear me!

Who's there? - Thersites, my lord

Where?

Where?

Art thou come?

Why, my cheese, my digestion,

why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals?

Come!

What's Agamemnon? - Thy commander, Achilles

Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyself?

Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?

Thou mayst tell that knowest

Tell, tell - I will decline the whole question:

Agamemnon is our commander,

Achilles is my lord, I am Patroclus' knower, and Patroclus is a fool

You rascal! - Peace, fool, I have no done

He is a privileged man. Proceed, Thersites

Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool,

Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool

Derive this: come

Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles,

Achilles is a fool to be commanded by Agamemnon,

Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool,

and Patroclus is a fool positive

Why am I a fool?

Make that demand to the Creator: it suffices me that thou art.

Hey, look you, who comes here?

Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites

Here is such juggling, such patchery, such knavery!

And all the argument is a cuckold and a whore,

a good quarrel to bleed to death upon

Now, the dry serpigo on the subject!

And war and O, lechery confound all!

Where is Achilles? - Within his tent, but ill disposed, my lord

Let it be known to him that we are here - I shall so say to him

We saw him at the opening of his tent: he is not sick

Yes, lion-sick:

I mean sick of proud heart

You may call it melancholy if you will favour the man,

but, by my head, it is pride

A word, my lord

What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him

Who, Thersites? - She

All the better

Here comes Patroclus - No Achilles with him?

The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy:

his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure

Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry If anything more than your sport and pleasure

Did move your greatness and this noble state To call upon him

He hopes it is no other But for your health and your digestion sake,

An after-dinner's breath

Hear you, Patroclus:

We are too well acquainted with these answers

Much attribute he hath, yet all his virtues Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss,

Yea, and like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,

Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,

We came to speak with him:

and you shall not sin

If you do say we think him over-proud And under-honest. Tell him so,

and add -

That if he overhold his price so much, We'll none of him

A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant. Tell him this

I shall, and bring his answer presently

In second voice we'll not be satisfied: We come to speak with him

Ulysses, enter you

What is he more than another?

No more than what he thinks he is

Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am?

No question

Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is?

No, noble Ajax:

you are as strong, as valiant, as wise,

no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more... tractable

Then why should a man be proud?

How doth pride grow? I know not what it is

Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer

I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads

Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?

Achilles will not to the field tomorrow

What's his excuse?

He doth rely on none

Why will he not upon our fair request

Untent his person and share the air with us?

Possessed he is with greatness,

And speaks not to himself but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath

Imagined worth Holds in his blood such swollen and hot discourse,

That 'twixt his mental and his active parts

Kingdomed Achilles in commotion rages And batters against itself

Let Ajax go to him. Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent

'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led At your request a little from himself

O Agamemnon, let it not be so

No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired,

As amply titled as Achilles is, by going to Achilles

This lord go to him? Jupiter forbid, And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him'

O, this is well: and rubs the vein of him - And how his silence drinks up this applause!

If I go to him, with my armèd fist,

I'll pash him o'er the face

O, no, you shall not go

An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride.

Let me go to him

Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel

A paltry, insolent fellow! - How he describes himself!

Can he not be sociable?

The raven chides blackness

An all men were o' my mind - - Wit would be out of fashion

A' should not bear it so,

a' should eat swords first

Shall pride carry it? I will knead him: I'll make him supple

He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises: pour in, pour in

My lord, you feed too much on this dislike - Our noble general, do not do so

You must prepare to fight without Achilles

And here is a man - but 'tis before his face: I will be silent

Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous, as Achilles is

Knows the world, he is as valiant

A whoreson dog,

that shall palter thus with us! Would he were a Trojan!

What a vice were it in Ajax now -

If he were proud - - Or covetous of praise -

Ay, or surly borne - - Or strange, or self-affected!

Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure:

Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck

Fame be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature

Thrice famed beyond, beyond all erudition

I will not praise thy wisdom,

Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts

Here's Nestor: instructed by the antiquary times, He must, he is, he cannot but be wise

But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax and your brain so tempered,

You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax

Shall I call you mother? - Ay, my good son

Be ruled by her, Lord Ajax

There is no tarrying here: the hart Achilles Keeps thicket

Please it our general To call together all her state of war

And here's a lord - come knights from east to west,

And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best

Go we to council.

Let Achilles sleep

Light boats sail swift while greater hulks draw deep

Friend, you! Pray you, a word:

do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

Ay, sir, when he goes before me

You depend upon him, I mean?

Sir, I do depend upon the lord

No, you depend upon a noble gentleman: I must needs praise him

The lord be praised!

What music is this?

I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts

Know you the musicians?

Wholly, sir

Who play they to? - To the hearers, sir

At whose pleasure, friend? - At mine, sir, and theirs that love music

Command, I mean, friend - Who shall I command, sir?

Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly and thou art too cunning

At whose request do these men play?

Marry, sir, at the request of Paris, my lord, who's there in person

With him, the mortal Venus,

the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul -

Who? My cousin Cressida?

No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her attributes?

It should seem, friend, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida

I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus

I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes

Sodden business. There's a stewed phrase indeed!

Fair be to you, my lord, fair queen. Fair thoughts be your fair pillow

Dear lord, you are full of fair words - You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen

Fair prince, here is good broken music

You have broke it, cousin, and, by my life, you shall make it whole again

You shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.

Nell, he is full of harmony

Truly, lady, no - O, sir!

Rude, in sooth, in good sooth, very rude

Well said, my lord

I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Nay, this shall not hedge us out: no, we shall hear you sing, certainly

Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. Marry, thus, my lord:

My dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus...

My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord -

Go to, sweet queen, go to. ...commends himself most affectionately to you -

You shall not bob us out of our melody:

if you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Sweet queen, sweet queen: that's a sweet queen, i'faith

Yes, and to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence

Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall not, in truth, la.

Nay, I care not for such words.

And, my lord, he desires you, that if the king call for him at supper,

you will make his excuse

My Lord Pandarus -

What says my sweet queen, my very, very sweet queen?

What exploit's in hand? Where sups Troilus tonight?

Nay, but, my lord -

What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out with you

You must not know where he sups

With my disposer Cressida?

No, no: no such matter, you are wide

Well, I'll make excuse

Ay, good my lord

Why should you say Cressida?

I spy

You spy? What do you spy?

Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen

Why, this is kindly done

My niece is horrible in love with a thing you have, sweet queen

She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris

He? No, she'll none of him: they two are twain

Falling in after falling out may make them three

Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I will sing you a song now

Ay, ay, prithee now.

By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead

Ay, you may, you may

Now let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.

O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Love? Ay, that it shall, i'faith

Ay, good now, 'Love, love, nothing but love'

In good troth, it begins so

Love, love, nothing but love...

Still more!

For, O, love's bow Shoots buck and doe

The shaft confounds Not that it wounds,

But tickles still the sore

These lovers cry, O ho, they die!

But that which seems the wound to kill

Doth turn, O ho to ha, ha, he!

So dying love lives still

O ho, awhile, but ha, ha, ha!

O ho, groans out for ha, ha, ha!

Heigh-ho!

In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose

He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood,

and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds,

and hot deeds is love

Is this the generation of love? Hot blood, hot thoughts, hot deeds?

Why, they are vipers: is love a generation of vipers?

Sweet lord, who's afield today?

Hector

Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy

I would fain have armed today, but my Nell would not have it so

How chance my brother Troilus went not?

But he hangs the lip at something:

you know all, Lord Pandarus

Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they sped today

You'll remember your brother's excuse? - To a hair

Farewell, sweet queen

Commend me to your niece - I will, sweet queen

They're come from field:

let us to Priam's hall To greet the warriors

Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector

His stubborn buckles,

With these your white enchanting fingers touched,

Shall more obey than to the edge of steel Or force of Greekish sinews

You shall do more Than all the island kings: disarm great Hector

'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris

Sweet, above thought I love thee

How now? Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's?

No, sir, he stays for you to conduct him thither

Here he comes. How now, how now?

Walk off, wench

Have you seen my cousin?

O Pandarus: I stalk about her door,

Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Staying for waftage

O, be thou my Charon, And give me swift transportance to those fields

Where I may wallow in the lily-beds Proposed for the deserver

O gentle Pandarus,

>From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings And fly with me to Cressid!

Walk here i'the orchard

I'll bring her straight

I am giddy:

expectation whirls me round

The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense: what will it be,

When that the watery palates taste indeed Love's thrice-repurèd nectar?

She's making her ready, she'll come straight.

You must be witty now: she does so blush

'Tis the prettiest villain:

she fetches her breath so short as a new-ta'en sparrow

Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom

My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse, And all my powers do their bestowing lose,

Like vassalage at unawares encountering The eye of majesty

Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby

Here she is now: swear the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me

What, are you gone again?

You must be watched ere you be made tame, must you?

Come your ways, come your ways

Why do you not speak to her?

Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your picture

Alak the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!

An 'twere dark, you'd close sooner

So, so,

rub on, and kiss the mistress

Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you

Go to, go to

You have bereft me of all words, lady

Words pay no debts, give her deeds

What, billing again?

Come in, come in:

I'll go get a fire

Will you walk in, my lord?

O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus!

Wished, my lord? The gods grant - O my lord!

What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption?

What too curious carriage despises my love?

More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes

O, let my lady apprehend no fear:

in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster

Nothing monstrous either?

Nothing but our undertakings,

when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers

This is the monstruosity in love, lady,

that the will is infinite and the execution confined,

that the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit

They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able,

and yet reserve an ability that they never perform

They that have the voice of lions but the act of hares, are they not monsters?

Are there such?

Such are not we:

praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove

Will you walk in, my lord?

What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?

Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you

I thank you for that.

If my lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my lord

Our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed,

they are constant being won

They are burrs, I can tell you: they'll stick where they are thrown

Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart

Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day For many weary months

Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

Hard to seem won:

but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever we -

Pardon me - If I confess much, you will play the tyrant

I love you now, but not, till now, so much But I might master it:

in faith, I lie

My thoughts were like unbridled children grown

Too headstrong for their mother See, we fools!

Why have I blabbed?

Who shall be true to us, When we are so unsecret to ourselves?

But, though I loved you well, I wooed you not, And yet, good faith, I wished myself a man,

Or that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,

For in this rapture I shall surely speak The thing I shall repent. See, see,

your silence, cunning in dumbness,

from my weakness draws my soul of counsel from me.

Stop my mouth!

And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence

Pretty, i'faith

My lord, I do beseech you pardon me: 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss

I am ashamed

O heavens, what have I done?

For this time will I take my leave, my lord - Your leave, sweet Cressid?

Leave? An you take leave till tomorrow morning - - Pray you content you

What offends you, lady? - Sir, mine own company

You cannot shun yourself - Let me go and try

I have a kind of self resides with you,

But an unkind self, that itself will leave To be another's fool

Where is my wit? I would be gone: I speak I know not what

Well know they what they speak that speaks so wisely

Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love,

And fell so roundly to a large confession To angle for your thoughts: but you are wise,

Or else you love not, for to be wise and love

Exceeds man's might: that dwells with gods above

O, that I thought it could be in a woman -

As, if it can, I will presume in you -

To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love,

To keep her constancy in plight and youth,

Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind That doth renew swifter than blood decays

Or that persuasion could but thus convince me That my integrity and truth to you

Might be affronted with the match and weight Of such a winnowed purity in love:

How were I then uplifted!

But, alas,

I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth

In that I'll war with you

O virtuous fight,

When right with right wars who shall be most right!

True swains in love shall in the world to come Approve their truths by Troilus

When their rhymes, full of protest, of oath and big compare, want similes,

truth tired with iteration,

'As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,

As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,'

'As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre',

Yet, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited,

'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse, And sanctify the numbers

Prophet may you be!

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,

When time is old and hath forgot itself,

When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,

And blind oblivion swallowed cities up,

And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing,

yet let memory, from false to false,

among false maids in love, upbraid my falsehood!

When they've said 'As false As air, as water, as wind, as sandy earth,'

'As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind,

stepdame to her son',

Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,

'As false as Cressid'

Go to, a bargain made:

seal it, seal it, I'll be the witness

Here I hold your hand, here my cousin's

If ever you prove false one to another,

since I have taken such pains to bring you together,

let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end

after my name: call them all Pandars

Let all constant men be Troiluses,

all false women Cressids,

and all brokers-between Pandars!

Say, 'Amen'

Amen - Amen

Amen

Whereupon I will show you a chamber with a bed:

which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters,

press it to death. Away!

And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here

Bed, chamber and Pandar to provide this gear!

Ajax!

Now, princes, for the service I have done you,

The advantage of the time prompts me aloud To call for recompense

Appear it to your mind I have abandoned Troy,

left my possessions, incurred a traitor's name,

exposed myself, from certain and possessed conveniences,

To doubtful fortunes here, to do you service

What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand

You have a Trojan prisoner, called Antenor, Yesterday took: Troy holds Antenor dear

Oft have you - often have you thanks therefore -

Desired my Cressid in right great exchange,

Whom Troy hath still denied. But this Antenor Is such a wrest, so key to their affairs,

That their negotiations all must slack, Wanting this manage

Antenor send, great princes, And that shall buy my daughter

Let Diomedes bear Antenor, And bring us Cressid hither

Calchas shall have What she requests of us

Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange

Withal bring word if Hector will tomorrow Be answered in his challenge: Ajax is ready

This shall I undertake, and 'tis a burden Which I am proud to bear

Achilles stands at the entrance of his tent

Menelaus!

Please it our general to pass strangely by, As if he were forgot:

and, princes all, Lay negligent and loose regard upon him

I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me:

If so, I have derision medicinable which may do good

We'll execute your purpose, and put on A form of strangeness. I will lead the way

What, comes the general to speak with me?

You know my mind: I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy

What?

What? What? What? What?

What says Achilles? Will he aught with us?

Will you, my lord, aught with the general? - No

Nothing, my lord - The better

Good day

Good day

How do you?

How do you?

What, does the cuckold scorn me?

How now, Patroclus?

Good morrow, Ajax

Ha? - Good morrow

Ay, and a good next day too

What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?

They pass by strangely:

they were used to bend,

To send their smiles before them to Achilles,

To come as humbly as they used to creep To holy altars

What, am I poor of late?

'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune,

Must fall out with men too

What the declined is he shall as soon read in the eyes of others as feel in his own fall:

for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings but to the summer

But 'tis not so with me. Fortune and I are friends:

I do enjoy at ample point all that I did possess, Save these men's looks

Here is Ulysses: I'll interrupt her reading. How now, Ulysses?

Now, great Thetis' son! - What are you reading?

A strange fellow here Writes me: 'That man, how dearly ever parted,

Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection'

This is not strange, Ulysses

The beauty that is borne here in the face The bearer knows not,

but commends itself To others' eyes. This is not strange at all

I do not strain it at the position - It is familiar - but at the author's drift,

Who in his circumstance expressly proves That no man is lord of anything,

Till he communicate his parts to others. I was much wrapt in this,

And apprehended here immediately The unknown Ajax

Heavens, what a man is there! A very horse, That has he knows not what

Now shall we see tomorrow - An act that very chance doth throw upon him -

Ajax renowned?

O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do!

How some men creep in skittish Fortune's hall, While others play the idiots in her eyes!

To see these Grecian lords! Why, even already They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,

As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast And great Troy shrinking

I do believe it, for they passed by me As misers do by beggars,

neither gave to me

Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,

Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,

A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:

Those... scraps

are good deeds past,

which are devoured As fast as they are made,

forgot as soon as done

Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright

To have done is to hang Quite out of fashion,

like a rusty mail In monumental mock'ry.

Keep then the path,

For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue: if you give way,

Like to an entered tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost

Then what they do in present,

Though less than yours in past,

must o'ertop yours:

For time is like a fashionable host

That slightly shakes the parting guest by the hand,

And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer

The welcome ever smiles, And farewells goes out sighing

O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was:

For beauty, wit,

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,

Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating Time

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,

That all with one consent praise the new-born gawds,

Though they are made and moulded of things past,

And give to dust that is a little gilt,

More laud than gilt o'er-dusted

The present eye praises the present object

Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,

Since things in motion begin to catch the eye Than what not stirs

The cry went out on thee,

And still it might, and yet it may again,

If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive And case thy reputation in thy tent

Of this my privacy, I have strong reasons

But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical

'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With Priam's daughter, fair Polyxena

Ha? Known? - Is that a wonder?

There is a mystery in the soul of state,

That hath an operation more divine Than breath or pen can give expressure to

All the commerce that you have had in Troy

As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord,

And better would it fit Achilles much To throw down Hector than Polyxena

But it must grieve young Pyrrhus, your sweet son,

When Fame shall in our island, sound her trump,

And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,

'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win,

But our great Ajax bravely beat down him'

Farewell, my lord

I as your lover speak: The fool slides o'er the ice that you...

should break

To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you

A woman impudent and mannish grown

Is not more loathed than an effeminate man In time of action

I stand condemned for this

They think my little stomach to the war And your great love to me restrains you thus

Sweet, rouse yourself:

and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,

And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to airy air

Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him

I see my reputation is at stake:

My fame is shrewdly gored

O, then, beware:

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves

Omission to do what is necessary Is dangerous,

that like an ague taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun

Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus

I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat

To see us here unarmed

I have a woman's longing,

An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace,

To talk with him and to behold his visage, Even to my full of view

A labour saved!

A wonder! - What?

Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself

How so? - He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector,

and is so prophetically proud of a heroical cudgelling

that he raves in saying nothing

How can that be? - Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock

He knows no me: I says to him, 'Good morrow, Ajax',

and he replies, 'Thanks, Agamemnon'

Well what think you of this man takes me for the general?

Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites

Who, I? No, no, he'll answer nobody.

No, no, no, he'll speak to nobody

He refutes speaking: his tongue is in his arms

Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax

To him, Patroclus: tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax

to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to our tent

Jove bless great Ajax!

I come from the worthy Achilles,

who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent,

and to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon

Agamemnon? - Ay, my lord

Ha? - What say you to it?

God be with you, with all my heart

Your answer, sir

If tomorrow be a fair day,

by eleven o'clock, it will go one way or the other

Your answer, sir

God be with you, with all my heart

Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight

Let me carry another to his horse, for that's the more capable creature

My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred,

And I myself see not the bottom of it

Would that the fountain of your mind were still again,

that I might water an ass at it!

I would rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance

See, ho! Who is that there?

It is the Lord Aeneas

Is the prince there in person?

Had I so good occasion to lie long As you, Prince Paris,

nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed-mate of my company

That's my mind too.

Good morrow, Lord Aeneas

A valiant Greek, Aeneas: take his hand

Witness the process of your speech, within

you told how Diomed, in a whole week by days,

Did haunt you in the field

Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce

But when I meet you armed, as black defiance

As heart can think or courage execute

The one and other Diomed embraces

Our bloods are now in calm, and, so long, health!

But when contention and occasion meets,

By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life With all my force, pursuit and policy

Welcome to Troy, in humane gentleness,

Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,

No man alive can love in such a sort

The thing he means to kill more excellently

We sympathise - We know each other well

We do, and long to know each other worse

This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting,

The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of

What business, lord, so early?

I was sent for to the king: but why, I know not

His purpose meets you: it was to bring this Greek To Calchas' house,

and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid

I constantly do think My brother Troilus lodges there tonight

Rouse him and give him note of our approach

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece Than Cressid borne from Troy

There is no help:

the bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord, we'll follow you

Good morrow, all

And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,

Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,

Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen most:

Myself or Menelaus?

Both alike:

He merits well to have her that doth seek her,

Not making any scruple of her soilure, With such a hell of pain and world of charge,

And you as well to keep her that defend her,

Not palating the taste of her dishonour,

With such a costly loss of wealth and friends

He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up

The lees and dregs of a flat tamèd piece:

You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleased to breed out your inheritors

Both merits poised, each weighs no less, no more,

But he as he, the heavier for a whore

You are too bitter to your countrywoman

She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris:

For every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk

For every scruple of her contaminated carrion weight,

A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,

She hath not given so many good words breath

As for her Greeks and Trojans suffered death

Fair Diomed, you do as tradesmen do,

Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy

Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold

Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down: He shall unbolt the gates

Trouble him not.

To bed, to bed!

Sleep kill those pretty eyes,

And give as soft attachment to thy senses As infants empty of all thought

Good morrow, then - I prithee now, to bed

Are you aweary of me?

O Cressida!

But that the busy day, Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,

And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,

I would not from thee

Night hath been too brief

Beshrew the witch!

With venomous wights she stays As hideously as hell,

but flies the grasps of love With wings more momentary-swift than thought

You will catch a cold and curse me

Prithee, tarry: You men will never tarry

O foolish Cressid!

I might have still held off, then you would have tarried.

Hark, there's one up

What's all the doors open here? - It is your uncle

A pestilence on him! Now he will be mocking: I shall have such a life!

How now, how now?

How go maidenheads?

Hear, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid?

Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!

You bring me to do - and you flout me too

To do what? To do what?

Let her say what: what have I brought you to do?

Come, come, beshrew your heart! You'll ne'er be good, nor suffer others

Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?

Would he not - a naughty man - let it sleep?

A bugbear take him!

Did not I tell you? Would he were knocked i'the head!

Who's that at door? Good uncle, go and see

My lord, come you again into my chamber

You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily

Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing

How earnestly they knock!

Pray you, come in: I would not for half Troy have you seen here

Who's there? What's the matter?

Will you beat down the door? What's the matter?

Good morrow, lord, good morrow

My lord Aeneas! By my troth, I knew you not:

what news with you so early?

Is not Prince Troilus here? - Here? What should he do here?

Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him:

It doth import him much to speak with me

Is he here, say you? Well that's more than I know, I'll be sworn

For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?

Who, nay then! Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you're ware

You'll be so true to him, to be false to him.

Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither.

Go!

How now? What's the matter?

My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash

There is at hand Paris your brother, and good Helenus,

The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Delivered to us,

and for Antenor we must give up to Diomed's hand

The Lady Cressida

Is it... concluded so?

By Priam and the general state of Troy:

They are at hand and ready to effect it

How my achievements mock me!

I will go meet them.

And, my Lord Aeneas, We met by chance: you did not find me here

Good, good, my lord, the secrets of nature Hath not more gift in taciturnity

Is't possible? No sooner got but lost?

The devil take Antenor!

The young prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor!

I would they had broke 's neck!

How now? What's the matter? Who was here?

Why sigh you so profoundly?

Where's my lord?

Gone?

Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

O the gods! What's the matter?

Prithee, get thee in: wouldst thou had ne'er been born!

I knew thou wouldst be his death. O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!

Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what's the matter?

Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone

Thou art exchanged for Antenor.

Thou must to thy mother, and be gone from Troilus

'Twill be his death, 'twill be his bane: he cannot bear it

O you immortal gods!

Well I will not go - Thou must

I will not, uncle. I have forgot my mother:

I know no touch of consanguinity

No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me As the sweet Troilus.

O you gods divine!

Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,

If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force and death,

Do to this body what extremity you can:

But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all things to it

I will go in and weep - Do, do

Tear my bright hair and scratch my praisèd cheeks,

Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart

With sounding Troilus

I will not go from Troy

It is great morning, and the hour prefixed

Of her delivery to this valiant Greek comes fast upon

Good my brother Troilus, tell you the lady what she is to do, and haste her to the purpose

Walk into her house: I'll bring her to the Grecian presently

And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar,

and thy brother Troilus A priest there off'ring to it his heart

I know what 'tis to love, And would, as I shall pity, I could help

Please you walk in

Be moderate, be moderate

Why tell you me of moderation?

The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,

And no less in a sense as strong As that which causeth it.

How can I moderate it?

Here, here, here he comes. O, sweet duck

Troilus!

O Troilus!

What a pair of spectacles is here!

Let me embrace too

'O heart', as the goodly saying is,

'O heart, heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking?'

How now, lambs?

Cressid, I love thee in so strange a purity,

That the blest gods, as angry with my fancy, Take thee from me

Have the gods envy? - Ay, ay, ay: 'tis too plain a case

And is it true that I must go from Troy? - A most hateful truth

What, and from Troilus too? - From Troy and Troilus

Is't possible? - And suddenly,

we two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other,

must poorly sell ourselves

With the rude brevity and discharge of one

Injurious time now with a robber's haste Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how

As many farewells as stars be in heaven He fumbles up into a loose adieu,

And scants us with a single famished kiss,

Distasting with the salt of broken tears

My lord, is the lady ready?

Hark! You are called. Bid them have patience. She shall come anon

Where are my tears?

Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root

I must then to the Grecians?

No remedy

A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!

When shall we see again? - Hear me my love:

be thou but true of heart - - I true?

How now? What wicked deem is this? - I speak not 'be thou true' as fearing thee,

But 'be thou true', say I, and I will see thee

O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true

And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve

And you this glove. When shall I see you?

I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, To give thee nightly visitation

But yet be true - O heavens! 'Be true' again!

Hear why I speak it, love:

The Grecian youths are full of quality

Alas, a kind of godly jealousy

Makes me afraid

O heavens, you love me not - Die I a villain, then!

In this I do not call your faith in question So mainly as my merit

I cannot sing,

nor heel the high lavolta, sweeten talk,

nor play at subtle games - fair virtues all,

To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant

But I can tell that in each grace of these There lurks a still and dumb-discursive devil

That tempts most cunningly

But be not tempted - Do you think I will?

No.

But something may be done that we will not:

And sometimes we are devils to ourselves

Nay, good my lord -

Come, kiss, and let us part - Brother Troilus!

Good brother, come you hither, And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you

My lord, will you be true?

Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault

Welcome, Sir Diomed!

Here is the lady Which for Antenor we deliver you

If e'er thou stand at the mercy of my sword,

Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilium

Fair Lady Cressid,

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects

The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, Pleads your fair usage, and to Diomed

You shall be mistress, and command him wholly

Grecian, thou doth not use me courteously,

To shame the zeal of my petition towards In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,

She is as far high-soaring over thy praises As thou unworthy to be called her servant

I charge thee use her well,

even for my charge,

For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,

Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, I'll cut thy throat

Be not moved, Prince Troilus

Let me be privileged by my place and message, To be a speaker free:

When I am hence...

I'll answer to my lust. And know, my lord, I'll nothing do on charge

To her own worth She shall be prized:

but that you say 'be it so',

I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, 'no'

Lady, give me your hand,

and, as we walk, To our own selves bend we our needful talk

Hark! Hector's trumpet

How have we spent this morning!

The prince will think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him in the field

'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with him

Let us make ready straight

Ay, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,

Let us address to tend on Hector's heels

The glory of Troy doth lie, I see, On his fair worth

and single chivalry

Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, Anticipating time

With starting courage, give with thy trumpet

a loud note to Troy, thou dreadful Ajax,

that the appallèd air may pierce the head of the great combatant and hale him hither

Thou, trumpet, there's my purse

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe

Come, stretch thy chest and let thy eyes spout blood

Thou blowest for Hector

No trumpet answers - 'Tis but early days

Is not yond Diomed,

with Calchas' daughter?

'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait: He rises on the toe

That spirit of his In aspiration lifts him from the earth

Is this the Lady Cressid?

Even she

Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady

Our general doth salute you with a kiss

Yet is the kindness but particular:

'Twere better she were kissed in general

And very courtly counsel: I'll begin

So much for Nestor

I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: Achilles bids you welcome

I had good argument for kissing once

But that's no argument for kissing now: For thus popped Paris in

O, deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns, For which we lose our heads to gild his horns

The first was Menelaus' kiss, this, mine:

Patroclus kisses you

O, this is trim! - Paris and I kiss evermore for him

I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave

In kissing, do you render or receive?

Both take and give

I'll make my match to live, The kiss you take is better than you give

Therefore no kiss

I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one

You're an odd man: give even or give none

An odd man, lady?

Every man is odd

No, Paris is not:

for you know 'tis true That you are odd and he is even with you

You fillip me o'the head - No, I'll be sworn

It were no match, your nail against his horn

May I, sweet lady,

beg a kiss of you?

You may

I do desire it - Why, beg then

Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss When Helen is a maid again, and his

I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due - Never's my day, and then a kiss of you

Lady, a word:

I'll bring you to your mother

A woman of quick sense - Fie, fie upon her!

There's a language in her eye, her cheek, her lip

Nay, her foot speaks,

her wanton spirits look out >From every joint and motive of her body

O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue,

Set them down for sluttish spoils of opportunity And daughters of the game

The Trojan strumpet!

The Trojan's trumpet!

Yonder comes the troop

Hail, all you state of Greece.

Will you the knights

Shall to the edge of all extremity pursue each other,

or shall be divided By any voice or order of the field?

Hector bade ask - Which way would Hector have it?

He cares not: he'll obey conditions

'Tis done like Hector: but securely done,

A little proudly, and great deal disprising The knight opposed

If not Achilles, sir, what is your name?

If not Achilles, nothing

Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this: That which looks like pride is courtesy

This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,

In love whereof, half Hector stays at home

Half heart, half hand,

half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek

A maiden battle, then? O, I perceive you

Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,

Stand by our Ajax, as you and Lord Aeneas Consent upon the order of their fight

So be it, either to the uttermost, Or else a breath

The combatants being kin Half stints their strife before their strokes begin

They are opposed already

What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?

The youngest son of Priam

A true knight, they call him Troilus:

Manly as Hector, but more dangerous,

For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes To tender objects,

but he in heat of action Is more vindicative than jealous love

Now, Ajax, hold thine own!

Move!

Hector

thou sleep'st: awake thee!

There, Ajax!

Pray you, you must no more

Princes, enough, so please you

I am not warm yet: let us fight again - As Hector pleases

Why, then will I no more: Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son

The obligation of our blood forbids A gory emulation 'twixt us twain

I thank thee, Hector. Thou art too gentle and too free a man

I came to kill thee, cousin,

and bear hence A great addition earned in thy death

There is expectance here from both the sides, What further you will do

We'll answer it: The issue is embracement.

Ajax, farewell

If I might

in entreaties find success -

As seld I have the chance -

I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents

That is Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles Doth long to see unarmed the valiant Hector

Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,

And signify this loving interview To the expecters of our Trojan part

Desire them home. Give me your hand, my cousin:

I will go eat with thee and see your knights

Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here

Worthy of arms, as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy -

But that's no welcome: understand more clear,

What's past and what's to come

is strewn with husks And formless ruin of oblivion

But in this extant moment, faith and troth Bids thee, with most divine integrity,

>From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome

I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon

My well-famed lord of Troy, no less to you

Let me confirm my princely sister's greeting:

You brace of warlike kindred, welcome hither

Who must we answer?

The noble Menelaus - O, you, my lord?

Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove.

She's well, but bade me not commend her to you

Name her not now, sir: she's a deadly theme - O, pardon: I offend

I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,

Labouring for destiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee,

When thou hast hung thy advancèd sword in the air,

Not letting it decline on the declined,

That I have said unto my standers-by,

'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!'

This have I seen, but this thy countenance I never saw till now

Let an old man embrace thee, And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents

'Tis the old Nestor

Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,

That hast so long walked hand in hand with Time

I would my arms could match thee in contention,

As they contend with thee in courtesy - I would they could

Ha?

By this white beard, I'd fight with thee tomorrow

Well, welcome, welcome!

I have seen the time

I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here her base and pillar by us

I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.

Ah, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,

Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilium, on your Greekish embassy

Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue: My prophecy is but half her journey yet

For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,

Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,

Must kiss their own feet

I must not believe you: There they stand yet, and modestly I think,

The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all,

And that old common arbitrator, Time,

Will one day end it

So to him we leave it.

Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome

After the general, I beseech you next To feast with me and see me at my tent

I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!

Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee

I have with exact view perused thee, Hector, And quoted joint by joint

Is this Achilles?

I am Achilles - Stand fair, I prithee: let me look on thee

Behold thy fill - Nay, I have done already

Thou art too brief:

I will the second time, As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb

O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er:

But there's more in me than thou understand'st

Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?

Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him?

Whether there, or there, or there?

That I may give the local wound a name,

And make distinct the very breach whereout

Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens!

It would discredit the blest gods, proud man, To answer such a question. Stand again

Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly

As to prenominate in nice conjecture Where thou wilt hit me dead?

I tell thee, yea - Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,

I'd not believe thee

Henceforth guard thee well,

For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there,

But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,

I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er

Do not chafe thee, cousin

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone,

Till accident or purpose bring you to it

You may every day enough of Hector,

If you have stomach

I pray you let us see you in the field

We have had pelting wars, since you refused The Grecian cause

Dost thou entreat me, Hector?

Tomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death: Tonight all friends

Thy hand upon that match

First, you peers of Greece, go to my tent:

There in the full convive you

Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,

That this great soldier may his welcome know

My Lord Ulysses,

tell me, I beseech you,

In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

At Menelaus' tent, most worthy prince

And Diomed doth feast him there tonight, Who neither looks on heaven nor on earth,

But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view On the fair Cressid

Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, After we part from Agamemnon's tent,

To bring me thither?

You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was this

Cressida in Troy?

Had she no lover there That wails her absence?

O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars A mock is due

Will you walk on, my lord?

She was beloved,

she loved:

she is, in truth:

But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth

I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,

Which with my scimitar I'll cool tomorrow

Patroclus, let us feast him to the height

Here comes Thersites

How now, thou core of envy!

Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?

Why, thou picture of what thou seemest,

and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee

>From whence, fragment? - Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy

What need these tricks?

O prithee be silent, boy: I profit not by thy talk.

Thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet

Male varlet?

You rogue! What's that?

Why, his masculine whore

Now, the rotten diseases of the south, guts-griping,

ruptures, catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'th'back,

lethargies, cold palsies, wheezing lungs,

dirt-rotten livers, and bladders full of imposthume,

take and take again such preposterous discoveries

Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?

Do I curse thee?

No, you ruinous butt, you whoreson indistinguishable cur

No? Why art thou then exasperate,

thou idle immaterial skein of sleaved silk,

thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye,

thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou?

Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such waterflies,

diminutives of nature!

Out, gall! - Finch-egg!

My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite >From my great purpose in tomorrow's battle

Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, A token from Polyxena, my love,

Both taxing me and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn

I will not break it

Fall Greeks, fail fame,

honour or go or stay, My major vow lies here, this I'll obey

Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:

This night in banqueting must all be spent

Away, Patroclus!

With too much blood, too little brain, these two may run mad

And here's Agamemnon,

an honest enough soul and one that loves quails,

but she has no so much brain as earwax

And the goodly transformation of Jupiter there,

her brother Menelaus, the bull -

To what form but that he is could wit larded with malice turn him to?

To an ass, were nothing: he is both ass and ox.

To an ox, were nothing: he is both ox and ass

To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock,

a herring without a roe, I would not care

But to be Menelaus,

I would conspire against destiny

Ask me not what I would be if I were not Thersites.

O hey, spirits and fires!

We go wrong, we go wrong

No, yonder 'tis: there, where we see the light

I trouble you - No, not a whit

Here comes himself to guide you

Welcome, brave Hector. Welcome, princes all

So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid goodnight

Goodnight and thanks to the Greeks' general

Ajax commands the guard to tend on you

Good lord, my night - Goodnight, sweet lord Menelaus

'Sweet' quoth 'a? Sweet sink, sweet sewer!

Goodnight and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry

Goodnight

Old Nestor tarries,

and you too, Diomed. Keep Hector company an hour or two

I cannot, lord. I have important business,

The tide whereof is now. Goodnight, great Hector

Give me your hand

Follow Diomed's torch: he goes to Calchas' tent.

I'll keep you company

Sweet lord, you honour me - Thanks and goodnight

Come, come, enter my tent

That same Diomed's an unjust rogue.

I would rather dog him than stay to see Hector

They say he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses Calchas the traitor's tent

I'll after.

Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets!

Stand where the torch may not discover us

What, are you up here, ho? Speak - Who calls?

Diomed. Calchas, I think.

Where's your daughter?

She comes to you

She comes forth to him

How now, my charge? - Now, my sweet guardian!

Hark, a word with you

Yea, so familiar? - She will sing any man at first sight

And any man may sing her, and he can take her clef: she's noted

Will you remember? - Remember? Yes

Nay, but do, then:

And let your mind be coupled with your words

What should she remember? - List!

Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly

Roguery! - Nay, then.

I'll tell you what - - Foh, foh!

Come, tell a pin: you are forsworn

In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?

A conjuring trick - to be secretly open

What did you swear you would bestow on me?

I prithee do not hold me to mine oath:

Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek - Goodnight

Hold, patience! - How now, Trojan?

Diomed - - No, no, goodnight:

I'll be your fool no more

Hark, one word in your ear

O, plague and madness! - You are moved, prince.

Let us depart, I pray you

Behold, I pray you! - You have not patience. Come

By hell and hell-torments I will not speak a word!

And so, goodnight - Nay, but you part in anger

O withered truth!

Guardian! Why, Greek!

Foh, foh! Adieu: you palter

I'faith, I do not.

Come hither once again

You shake, my lord, at something: will you go?

She strokes his cheek!

Come, come - Nay, stay

By Jove, I will not speak a word

How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato-fingers,

tickles these together!

O fry, lechery, fry!

But will you, then? - In faith, I will, lo! Never trust me else

Give me some token for the surety of it

I'll fetch you one

You have sworn patience - Fear me not, sweet lord

I will not be myself, nor have cognition Of what I feel:

I am all patience

Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve

O beauty! Where is thy faith? - My lord!

Look upon that sleeve? Behold it well. He loved me that -

False wench! Give it me again - Why, whose was't?

'Tis no matter, now I have it again

I will not meet with you tomorrow night: I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more

Well said, whetstone! Now she sharpens

I shall have it - What, this?

Ay, that - O, all you gods!

O pretty, pretty pledge!

Thy master now lies thinking in his bed Of thee and me,

and sighs, and takes my glove,

And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, As I kiss thee

Nay, do not snatch it from me - He that takes that takes my heart withal

I had your heart before, this follows it

You shall not have it, Diomed - in faith, you shall not:

I'll give you something else

I will have this. Whose was it? - It is no matter

Come, tell me whose it was

'Twas one that loved me

better than you will.

Now you have it, take it

Whose was it?

By all Diana's waiting-women yond, And by herself, I will not tell you whose

Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm,

And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it

Well

well, 'tis done, 'tis past.

And yet 'tis not: I will not keep my word

Why then, farewell: Thou never shalt mock Diomed again

No you shall not go: one cannot speak a word, But it straight starts you

I do not like this fooling

Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not me pleases me best

What, shall I come?

The hour?

Ay, come - O Jove!

Do come -

I shall be plagued

Farewell till then - Goodnight:

I prithee...

Come

Troilus, farewell!

One eye yet looks on thee,

But with my heart the other eye doth see

Poor our sex!

This fault in us I find,

The error of our eye directs our mind

What error leads must err

O, then conclude

Minds swayed by eyes are full of turpitude

A proof of strength she could not publish more,

Unless she said 'My mind is now turned whore'

All's done, my lord

It is

Why stay we, then?

To make a recordation to my soul

Of every syllable that here was spoke

But if I tell how these two did... co-act,

Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?

Was Cressid here? - I cannot conjure, Trojan

She was not, sure - Most sure she was

Why, my negation hath no taste of madness

Nor mine, my lord: Cressida was here but now

No, let it not be believed for womanhood!

Rather think this... not Cressid

Will he swagger himself out of his own eyes?

What, this, she?

No

This is Diomed's Cressida

If beauty have a soul, this is not she

If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, If sanctimony be the gods' delight,

If there be rule in unity itself,

This is not she:

this is and is not Cressid

Instance, O instance, strong as Pluto's gates: Cressid is mine,

tied with the bonds of heaven

Instance, O instance, strong as heaven itself:

The bonds of heaven are slipped,

dissolved, and loosed,

And with another knot, five-finger-tied,

The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,

The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relics

Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed

May worthy Troilus be half attached

With that which here his passion doth express?

Never did young man fancy With so eternal and so fixed a soul

Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,

So much by weight hate I her Diomed

That sleeve is mine, he'll bear in his helm

Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill, My sword should bite it

Not the dreadful spout Which shipmen do the hurricano call

Shall busy with more clamour Neptune's ear In his descent than shall my prompted sword

Falling on Diomed

He'll tickle it for his concupiscy

Cressid!

False Cressid!

False

false

false!

Let all untruths stand by thy stainèd name, And there seem glorious

O, contain yourself: Your passion draws ears hither

I have been seeking you this hour, my lord

Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy

Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home

Have with you, prince

My courteous lord,

adieu

Would I could meet that rogue Diomed!

I would blurt like a monster: I would bode, I would bode

War and lechery, still wars and lechery:

nothing else holds fashion

When was my lord so much ungently tempered, To stop his ears against admonishment?

Unarm, unarm, and do not fight today

You train me to offend you. Get you gone. By all the everlasting gods, I'll go!

My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day

No more, I say

Where is my brother Hector?

Here, sister, armed and bloody in intent.

Consort with me with loud and dear petition,

Pursue we him on knees: for I have dreamt Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night

Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter

Ho! Bid my trumpet sound!

No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother

Be gone, I say: the gods have heard me swear

O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy To kill for Justice' sake

It is the purpose that makes strong the vow: But vows to every purpose must not hold

Unarm, sweet Hector

Hold you still, I say: Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate

Life every man holds dear,

but the dear man Holds honour far more precious, dear, than life

How now, young man? Mean'st thou to fight today?

Cassandra, call my father to persuade

No, faith, young Troilus: doff thy harness, youth, Unarm thee, go,

and doubt thou not, brave boy,

I'll stand today for thee and me and Troy

Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you

What vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it

When many times the captive Grecian falls, You bid them rise and live

O, 'tis fair play

Fool's play, by heaven, Hector - How now? How now?

For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers,

And when we have our armours buckled on,

The venomed vengeance ride upon our swords

Fie, savage, fie! - Hector, then 'tis war

Troilus, I would not have you fight today

Who should withhold me?

Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars,

Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,

Nor you, my brother, should stop my way, But by my ruin

Hector is thy crutch: now if thou loose thy stay,

Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together

Come, Hector, come,

go back

Thy wife hath dreamt,

thy mother hath had visions,

Cassandra doth foresee, and I myself Am like a prophet sudden enrapt,

To tell thee

that this day is ominous: Therefore come back

Aeneas is afield, And I do stand engaged to many Greeks,

Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning--

Ay, but thou shalt not go - I must not break my faith

You know me dutiful: therefore, dear sir, Let me not shame respect,

but give me leave To take that course by your consent and voice,

Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam

O Priam, yield not to him! Do not, dear father

Andromache, I am offended with you: Upon the love you bear me, get you in

This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements

Away! Away!

As I conceive, Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive

You are amazed, my liege, at her exclaim

Go in and cheer the town: we'll forth and fight,

Do deeds of praise and tell you them at night

Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!

Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear? - What now?

Here's a letter come from yond poor girl

Let me read it

Whoreson tisick, whoreson rascally tisick so troubles me,

and the foolish fortune of this girl,

and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o' these days

And I have a rheum in mine eyes too,

Such an ache in my bones that, unless a man were cursed,

I cannot tell what to think on't. What says she there?

Words, words, mere words,

no matter from the heart: The effect doth operate another way

Go, wind to wind, there turn and change together

My love with words and errors still she feeds,

But edifies another with her deeds

Now they are clapper-clawing one another, I'll go look on

That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed,

has got that same scurvy foolish young knave's

sleeve of Troy there in his helm

I would fain see them meet

On the t'other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals -

that stale old, mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor,

and that dog-fox, Achilles -

is proved not worth a blackberry

They put up, in policy, the mongrel cur, Ajax,

against the cur of as bad a kind, Achilles

And now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles,

and will not fight today,

whereupon the Grecians begin to pronounce barbarism,

and policy grows into an ill opinion

Soft! Here comes sleeve, and t'other

Fly not, for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after

Thou dost miscall retire

I do not fly, but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude.

Have at thee!

What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match?

Art thou of blood and honour?

No!

I am a rascal, a scurvy railing knave, a very filthy rogue

I do believe thee

Live

God-a-heaven, that thou wilt believe me: but a plague break thy neck for frighting me!

Now what's become of the wenching rogues?

I think they have swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle. I'll seek them

Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse:

Present this fair sleeve to my lady Cressid

Fellow, commend my service to her beauty

Tell her I have chastised the amorous Trojan, And am her knight by proof

I go, my lord

No!

The dreadful Sagittary Appals our numbers

Haste we, Diomed, To reinforcement, or we perish all

Patroclus!

Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,

And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame

There is a thousand Hectors in the field

Now Hector fights: anon he's there afoot,

And there they fly or die, like scalèd sculls Before the belching whale:

then is he yonder,

And there the straying Greeks, ripe for his edge,

Fall down before him, like the mower's swath

O, courage, courage, princes!

Great Achilles is arming,

weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance

Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons,

That noseless, handless, hacked and chipped, come to him, crying on Hector

Ajax hath lost a friend And foams at mouth, and he is armed and at it,

Roaring for Troilus, who hath done today Mad and fantastic execution,

As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,

Bade him win all

Troilus, thou coward Troilus!

Ay, there, there

Where is this Hector?

So, so, we draw together

Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face:

Know what it is to meet Achilles angry

Hector!

Where is Hector?

I will none but Hector

Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head!

Troilus, I say! Where is Troilus? - What wouldst thou?

I would correct him

Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office Ere that correction.

Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!

O traitor Diomed!

Turn thy false face, thou traitor!

Ha, art thou there? - I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed

Why he is my prize: I will not look upon

Come, both you cogging Greeks, have at you both!

Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!

Now do I see thee! Have at thee, Hector!

Pause, if thou wilt

I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan

Be happy that my arms are out of use

My rest and negligence befriends thee now,

But thou anon shalt hear of me again:

Till when, go seek thy fortune - Fare thee well

I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee

Ajax hath taken Aeneas. Shall it be?

No, by flame of yonder glorious heaven, Or I'll be ta'en too

Fate, hear me what I say: I reck not though thou end my life today

Stand, stand, thou Greek: thou art a goodly mark

No? Wilt thou not?

I like thy armour well:

I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all, But I'll be master of it

Wilt thou not, beast, abide?

Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide

Come here about me, you, my Myrmidons

Mark what I say: attend me where I wheel,

Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath,

And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about

In fellest manner execute your arm

Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye:

It is decreed Hector the great must die

The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it

Now, bull!

Now, dog!

Loo, Paris, loo!

The bull has the game: 'ware horns, ho!

Turn, slave, and fight

What art thou? - A bastard son of Priam's

I'm a bastard too:

I love bastards

Now one bear will not bite another, wherefore then should one bastard?

Oh, no, no, take heed, this quarrel is most ominous to us

If the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement

Farewell, bastard

The devil take thee, coward!

Most putrefied core, so fair without,

Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life

Now is my day's work done: I'll take good breath

Rest, sword, thou hast thy fill of blood and death

Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set:

How ugly night comes breathing at his heels

Even with the vail and darking of the sun, To close the day up,

Hector's life is done

I am unarmed: forego this vantage, Greek

Strike, fellows, strike: this is the man I seek

So, Ilium, fall thou!

Now, Troy, sink down!

Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone

On, Myrmidons, cry you all amain, 'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain'

Hark! A retreat upon our Grecian part

The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord

The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, And, stickler-like, the armies separates

My half-supped spear, that frankly would have fed,

Pleased with this dainty bait,

thus goes to bed

Come, tie his body to my horse's tail:

Along the field I will the Trojan trail

Hark!

Hark!

What shout is that?

Peace, drums!

Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles!

The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles

If it be so, yet bragless let it be: Great Hector was a man as good as he

March patiently along

Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent

If by this death the gods have us befriended,

Great Troy is ours,

and these sharp wars are ended

Stand, ho!

Yet are we masters of the field

Never go home: here starve we out the night

Hector is slain - Hector? The gods forbid!

He's dead,

and at the murderer's horse tail,

In beastly sort, dragged through the shameful field

Frown on, you heavens,

effect your rage with speed!

Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!

I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,

And linger not our sure destruction on!

My lord, you do discomfort all the host

You understand me not that tell me so:

I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,

But dare all imminence that gods and men Address their dangers in

Hector is gone:

Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?

Let him that will a screech-owl aye be called Go in to Troy and say there

'Hector's dead'

There is a word will Priam turn to stone,

Make wells and Niobes of maids and wives,

Cool statues of the youth, and, in a word,

Scare Troy out of itself

But march away:

Hector's dead, there's no more to say

Stay yet

You vile abominable tents,

Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,

Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I'll through and through you!

And thou, great-sized coward,

No space on earth shall sunder our two hates:

I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,

That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts

Strike a free march to Troy

With comfort go:

Hope of revenge will hide our inward woe

But hear you, hear you!

Hence, broker-lackey!

Ignomy and shame Pursue thy life,

and live aye with thy name!

A goodly medicine for mine aching bones!

O world, world, world! Thus is the poor agent despised!

O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited!

Why should our endeavour be so desired and the performance so loathed?

What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see

Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,

Till he hath lost his honey and his sting

And being once subdued in armèd tail,

Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail

Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths:

As many as be here of panders' hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall

Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones

Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,

Some two months hence my will shall here be made

Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases,

And at that time

bequeathe you my diseases