TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest not truer than Troilus.


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


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


PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.


TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm faith.


PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are thrown.


CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart. Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day For many weary months.


TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?


CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever—pardon me. If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. I love you now; but till now not 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 blabb'd? Who shall be true to us, When we are so unsecret to ourselves? But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; And yet, good faith, I wish'd 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 very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.


TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.


CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done? For this time will I take my leave, my lord.


TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid!


PANDARUS. Leave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning—


TROILUS. What offends you, lady?


CRESSIDA. Sir, mine own company.


TROILUS. You cannot shun yourself.


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


TROILUS. Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.


CRESSIDA. 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.


TROILUS. 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.


CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you.


TROILUS. 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 truth by Troilus, when their rhymes, Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Want similes, truth tir'd 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 th' 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.


CRESSIDA. 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 swallow'd 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 th' have said 'As false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'— Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 'As false as Cressid.'


PANDARUS. 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 call'd 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.'


PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!


[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida.]


And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!


SCENE III. The Greek camp.


Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus and Calchas.


CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done, Th'advantage of the time prompts me aloud To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind That, through the sight I bear in things to come, I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself From certain and possess'd conveniences To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, Made tame and most familiar to my nature; And here, to do you service, am become As new into the world, strange, unacquainted— I do beseech you, as in way of taste, To give me now a little benefit Out of those many regist'red in promise, Which you say live to come in my behalf.


AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.


CALCHAS. You have a Trojan prisoner call'd Antenor, Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you—often have you thanks therefore— Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor, I know, is such a wrest in their affairs That their negotiations all must slack Wanting his manage; and they will almost Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes, And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence Shall quite strike off all service I have done In most accepted pain.


AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him, And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have What he requests of us. Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange; Withal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.


DIOMEDES. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden Which I am proud to bear.


[Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas.]


[Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent.]


ULYSSES. Achilles stands i' th'entrance of his tent. Please it our general pass strangely by him, 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 Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him. If so, I have derision med'cinable To use between your strangeness and his pride, Which his own will shall have desire to drink. It may do good. Pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride; for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.


AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on A form of strangeness as we pass along. So do each lord; and either greet him not, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.


ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.


AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?


NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?


NESTOR. Nothing, my lord.


AGAMEMNON. The better.


[Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor.]


ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me?


AJAX. How now, Patroclus?


ACHILLES. Good morrow.


ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?


PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend, To send their smiles before them to Achilles, To come as humbly as they us'd to creep To holy altars.


ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late? 'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd 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; And not a man for being simply man Hath any honour, but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, and favour, Prizes of accident, as oft as merit; Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, Doth one pluck down another, and together Die in the fall. 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; who do, methinks, find out Something not worth in me such rich beholding As they have often given. Here is Ulysses. I'll interrupt his reading. How now, Ulysses!


ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son!


ACHILLES. What are you reading?


ULYSSES. A strange fellow here Writes me that man—how dearly ever parted, How much in having, or without or in— Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver.


ACHILLES. This is not strange, Ulysses. The beauty that is borne here in the face The bearer knows not, but commends itself To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself— That most pure spirit of sense—behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed Salutes each other with each other's form; For speculation turns not to itself Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.


ULYSSES. I do not strain at the position— It is familiar—but at the author's drift; Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves That no man is the lord of anything, Though in and of him there be much consisting, Till he communicate his parts to others; Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them formed in the applause Where th'are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate The voice again; or, like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; And apprehended here immediately Th'unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! A very horse that has he knows not what! Nature, what things there are Most abject in regard and dear in use! What things again most dear in the esteem And poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow— An act that very chance doth throw upon him— Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do! How some men creep in skittish Fortune's hall, Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes! How one man eats into another's pride, While pride is fasting in his wantonness! 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 shrieking.


ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?


ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes. Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd 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. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow— Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path, For emulation hath a thousand sons That one by one pursue; if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by And leave you hindmost; Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on. 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 his parting guest by th'hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles, And farewell 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 new-born gauds, 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 sooner catch the eye Than what stirs not. The cry went once 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, Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, And drave great Mars to faction.


ACHILLES. Of this my privacy I have strong reasons.


ULYSSES. But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical. 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.


ACHILLES. Ha! known!


ULYSSES. Is that a wonder? The providence that's in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; Finds bottom in th'uncomprehensive deeps; Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery—with whom relation Durst never meddle—in the soul of state, Which hath an operation more divine Than breath or pen can give expressure to. All the commerce that you have had with 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 now at home, 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.


PATROCLUS. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you. A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand condemn'd 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 air.


ACHILLES. Shall Ajax fight with Hector?


PATROCLUS. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.


ACHILLES. I see my reputation is at stake; My fame is shrewdly gor'd.


PATROCLUS. O, then, beware: Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves; Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when they sit idly in the sun.


ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus. I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him T'invite the Trojan lords, after the combat, To see us here unarm'd. 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.


Enter Thersites.


THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself.


ACHILLES. How so?


THERSITES. He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.


ACHILLES. How can that be?


THERSITES. Why, a' stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this head, and 'twould out'; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat, he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good morrow, Ajax'; and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you of this man that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin.


ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.


THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.


ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd Captain General of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this.


PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax!


PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy Achilles—


PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—


PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.


PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord.


PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.


THERSITES. If tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.


THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart.


ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?


THERSITES. No, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.


ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.


THERSITES. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature.


ACHILLES. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; And I myself see not the bottom of it.


[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.]


THERSITES. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance.


SCENE I. Troy. A street.


Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches.


PARIS. See, ho! Who is that there?


DEIPHOBUS. It is the Lord Aeneas.


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.


DIOMEDES. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.


PARIS. A valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand: Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field.


AENEAS. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce; But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance As heart can think or courage execute.


DIOMEDES. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health! But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life With all my force, pursuit, and policy.


AENEAS. And thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly With his face backward. In humane gentleness, Welcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises' life, Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear No man alive can love in such a sort The thing he means to kill, more excellently.


DIOMEDES. We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live, If to my sword his fate be not the glory, A thousand complete courses of the sun! But in mine emulous honour let him die With every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!


AENEAS. We know each other well.


DIOMEDES. We do; and long to know each other worse.


PARIS. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. What business, lord, so early?


AENEAS. I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.


PARIS. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek To Calchas' house, and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. Let's have your company; or, if you please, Haste there before us. I constantly believe— Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge— My brother Troilus lodges there tonight. Rouse him and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore; I fear We shall be much unwelcome.


AENEAS. That I assure you: Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece Than Cressid borne from Troy.


PARIS. There is no help; The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.


AENEAS. Good morrow, all.


[Exit with servant.]


PARIS. And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true, Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, Who in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best, Myself, or Menelaus?


DIOMEDES. 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 tamed piece; You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors. Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more, But he as he, the heavier for a whore.


PARIS. You are too bitter to your country-woman.


DIOMEDES. 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 suff'red death.


PARIS. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; But we in silence hold this virtue well, We'll not commend what we intend to sell. Here lies our way.


SCENE II. Troy. The court of Pandarus' house.


Enter Troilus and Cressida.


TROILUS. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.


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


TROILUS. 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!


CRESSIDA. Good morrow, then.


TROILUS. I prithee now, to bed.


CRESSIDA. Are you aweary of me?


TROILUS. O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee.


CRESSIDA. Night hath been too brief.


TROILUS. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me.


CRESSIDA. Prithee tarry. You men will never tarry. O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up.


PANDARUS. [Within.] What's all the doors open here?


TROILUS. It is your uncle.


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


PANDARUS. How now, how now! How go maidenheads? Here, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid?


CRESSIDA. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.


PANDARUS. To do what? to do what? Let her say what. What have I brought you to do?


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


PANDARUS. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight? Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!


CRESSIDA. Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' th' head!


[One knocks.]


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.


CRESSIDA. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.


How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: I would not for half Troy have you seen here.


PANDARUS. Who's there? What's the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? What's the matter?


AENEAS. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.


PANDARUS. Who's there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth, I knew you not. What news with you so early?


AENEAS. Is not Prince Troilus here?


PANDARUS. Here! What should he do here?


AENEAS. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.


PANDARUS. Is he here, say you? It's more than I know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?


AENEAS. Who, nay then! Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 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.


TROILUS. How now! What's the matter?


AENEAS. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The Lady Cressida.


TROILUS. Is it so concluded?


AENEAS. By Priam and the general state of Troy. They are at hand, and ready to effect it.


TROILUS. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here.


AENEAS. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity.


[Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas.]


PANDARUS. 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.


CRESSIDA. How now! What's the matter? Who was here?


CRESSIDA. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?


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


CRESSIDA. O the gods! What's the matter?


PANDARUS. Pray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!


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


PANDARUS. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. 'Twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.


CRESSIDA. O you immortal gods! I will not go.


PANDARUS. Thou must.


CRESSIDA. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; 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 extremes 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'll go in and weep—


CRESSIDA. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, With sounding 'Troilus.' I will not go from Troy.


SCENE III. Troy. A street before Pandarus' house.


Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.


PARIS. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd For 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.


TROILUS. 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 own heart.


PARIS. I know what 'tis to love, And would, as I shall pity, I could help! Please you walk in, my lords?


SCENE IV. Troy. Pandarus' house.


Enter Pandarus and Cressida.


CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affections Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief. My love admits no qualifying dross; No more my grief, in such a precious loss.


PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!


CRESSIDA. [Embracing him.] O Troilus! Troilus!


PANDARUS. 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?


where he answers again


Because thou canst not ease thy smart By friendship nor by speaking.


There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, lambs!


TROILUS. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.


CRESSIDA. Have the gods envy?


CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy?


TROILUS. A hateful truth.


CRESSIDA. What! and from Troilus too?


TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus.


TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath. 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 thiev'ry up, he knows not how. As many farewells as be stars in heaven, With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu, And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken tears.


AENEAS. [Within.] My lord, is the lady ready?


TROILUS. Hark! you are call'd. Some say the Genius Cries so to him that instantly must die. Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.


PANDARUS. Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by my throat!


CRESSIDA. I must then to the Grecians?


TROILUS. No remedy.


CRESSIDA. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! When shall we see again?


TROILUS. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.


CRESSIDA. I true? How now! What wicked deem is this?


TROILUS. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us. I speak not 'Be thou true' as fearing thee, For I will throw my glove to Death himself That there's no maculation in thy heart; But 'Be thou true' say I to fashion in My sequent protestation: be thou true, And I will see thee.


CRESSIDA. O! you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true.


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


CRESSIDA. And you this glove. When shall I see you?


TROILUS. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels To give thee nightly visitation. But yet be true.


CRESSIDA. O heavens! 'Be true' again!


TROILUS. Hear why I speak it, love. The Grecian youths are full of quality; They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature, Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise. How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy, Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin, Makes me afear'd.


CRESSIDA. O heavens! you love me not!


TROILUS. 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 lavolt, nor 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-discoursive devil That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.


CRESSIDA. Do you think I will?


TROILUS. No. But something may be done that we will not; And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.


AENEAS. [Within.] Nay, good my lord!


TROILUS. Come, kiss; and let us part.


PARIS. [Within.] Brother Troilus!


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


CRESSIDA. My lord, will you be true?


TROILUS. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault! Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit Is plain and true; there's all the reach of it.


Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.


Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady Which for Antenor we deliver you; At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand, And by the way possess thee what she is. Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilion.


DIOMEDES. 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.


TROILUS. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously To shame the zeal of my petition to thee In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises As thou unworthy to be call'd 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.


DIOMEDES. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus. Let me be privileg'd by my place and message To be a speaker free: when I am hence I'll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth She shall be priz'd. But that you say 'Be't so,' I speak it in my spirit and honour, 'No.'


TROILUS. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed, This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, To our own selves bend we our needful talk.


[Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes.]


PARIS. Hark! Hector's trumpet.


AENEAS. How have we spent this morning! The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field.


PARIS. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come to field with him.


DEIPHOBUS. Let us make ready straight.


AENEAS. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. The glory of our Troy doth this day lie On his fair worth and single chivalry.


SCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out.


Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor and others.


AGAMEMNON. 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 appalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant, And hale him hither.


AJAX. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon. Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: Thou blowest for Hector.


ULYSSES. No trumpet answers.


ACHILLES. 'Tis but early days.


AGAMEMNON. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter?


ULYSSES. '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.


Enter Diomedes and Cressida.


AGAMEMNON. Is this the Lady Cressid?


AGAMEMNON. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.


NESTOR. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.


ULYSSES. Yet is the kindness but particular; 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general.


NESTOR. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. So much for Nestor.


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


MENELAUS. I had good argument for kissing once.


PATROCLUS. But that's no argument for kissing now; For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment, And parted thus you and your argument.


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


PATROCLUS. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine: Patroclus kisses you.


MENELAUS. O, this is trim!


PATROCLUS. Paris and I kiss evermore for him.


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


CRESSIDA. In kissing, do you render or receive?


PATROCLUS. Both take and give.


CRESSIDA. I'll make my match to live, The kiss you take is better than you give; Therefore no kiss.


MENELAUS. I'll give you boot; I'll give you three for one.


CRESSIDA. You are an odd man; give even or give none.


CRESSIDA. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true That you are odd, and he is even with you.


MENELAUS. You fillip me o' th'head.


CRESSIDA. No, I'll be sworn.


ULYSSES. It were no match, your nail against his horn. May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?


CRESSIDA. Why, beg then.


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


CRESSIDA. I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due.


ULYSSES. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.


DIOMEDES. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to your father.


[Exit with Cressida.]


NESTOR. A woman of quick sense.


ULYSSES. Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. O! these encounterers so glib of tongue That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every tickling reader! Set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity, And daughters of the game.


[Trumpet within.]


ALL. The Trojans' trumpet.


AGAMEMNON. Yonder comes the troop.


Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other Trojans, with attendants.


AENEAS. Hail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose A victor shall be known? 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.


AGAMEMNON. Which way would Hector have it?


AENEAS. He cares not; he'll obey conditions.


AGAMEMNON. 'Tis done like Hector.


ACHILLES. But securely done, A little proudly, and great deal misprising The knight oppos'd.


AENEAS. If not Achilles, sir, What is your name?


ACHILLES. If not Achilles, nothing.


AENEAS. Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this: In the extremity of great and little Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; The one almost as infinite as all, The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, And 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.


ACHILLES. A maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.


AGAMEMNON. 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.


Ajax and Hector enter the lists.


ULYSSES. They are oppos'd already.


AGAMEMNON. What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?


ULYSSES. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue; Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd; His heart and hand both open and both free; For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows, Yet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath; 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. They call him Troilus, and on him erect A second hope as fairly built as Hector. Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and, with private soul, Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.


[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight.]


AGAMEMNON. They are in action.


NESTOR. Now, Ajax, hold thine own!


TROILUS. Hector, thou sleep'st; awake thee!


AGAMEMNON. His blows are well dispos'd. There, Ajax!


[Trumpets cease.]


AENEAS. Princes, enough, so please you.


AJAX. I am not warm yet; let us fight again.


DIOMEDES. As Hector pleases.


HECTOR. Why, then will I no more. Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; The obligation of our blood forbids A gory emulation 'twixt us twain: Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all, And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister Bounds in my father's; by Jove multipotent, Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member Wherein my sword had not impressure made Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax. By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; Hector would have them fall upon him thus. Cousin, all honour to thee!


AJAX. 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.


HECTOR. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes Cries 'This is he!' could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector.


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


HECTOR. We'll answer it: The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.


AJAX. If I might in entreaties find success, As seld' I have the chance, I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.


DIOMEDES. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish; and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.


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 thy hand, my cousin; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.


Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.


AJAX. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.


HECTOR. The worthiest of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size.


AGAMEMNON. Worthy all 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 strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.


HECTOR. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.


AGAMEMNON. [To Troilus.] My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.


MENELAUS. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting. You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.


HECTOR. Who must we answer?


AENEAS. The noble Menelaus.


HECTOR. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Mock not that I affect the untraded oath; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove. She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.


MENELAUS. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.


HECTOR. O, pardon; I offend.


NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th'air, Not letting it decline on the declined; That I have said to some my standers-by 'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!' And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have shrap'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him. He was a soldier good, But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee; And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.


AENEAS. 'Tis the old Nestor.


HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time. Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.


NESTOR. I would my arms could match thee in contention As they contend with thee in courtesy.


HECTOR. I would they could.


NESTOR. Ha! By this white beard, I'd fight with thee tomorrow. Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.


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


HECTOR. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well. Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion on your Greekish embassy.


ULYSSES. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue. My prophecy is but half his journey yet; For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet.


HECTOR. 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.


ULYSSES. 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.


ACHILLES. I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou! Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted joint by joint.


HECTOR. Is this Achilles?


ACHILLES. I am Achilles.


HECTOR. Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.


ACHILLES. Behold thy fill.


HECTOR. Nay, I have done already.


ACHILLES. Thou art too brief. I will the second time, As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.


HECTOR. 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?


ACHILLES. 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.


HECTOR. 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?


ACHILLES. I tell thee yea.


HECTOR. 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. You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never—


AJAX. Do not chafe thee, cousin; And you, Achilles, let these threats alone Till accident or purpose bring you to't. You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.


HECTOR. I pray you let us see you in the field; We have had pelting wars since you refus'd The Grecians' cause.


ACHILLES. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? Tomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death; Tonight all friends.


HECTOR. Thy hand upon that match.


AGAMEMNON. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convive we; afterwards, As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall Concur together, severally entreat him. Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know.


[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses.]


TROILUS. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?


ULYSSES. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus. There Diomed doth feast with him tonight, Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view On the fair Cressid.


TROILUS. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, After we part from Agamemnon's tent, To bring me thither?


ULYSSES. 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?


TROILUS. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth; But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.


SCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of Achilles.


ACHILLES. 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.


PATROCLUS. Here comes Thersites.


ACHILLES. How now, thou core of envy! Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?


THERSITES. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.


ACHILLES. From whence, fragment?


THERSITES. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.


PATROCLUS. Who keeps the tent now?


THERSITES. The surgeon's box or the patient's wound.


PATROCLUS. Well said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?


THERSITES. Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles' male varlet.


PATROCLUS. Male varlet, you rogue! What's that?


THERSITES. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' th' palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!


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


THERSITES. Do I curse thee?


PATROCLUS. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.


THERSITES. No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleave 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 water-flies, diminutives of nature!


ACHILLES. 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 her daughter, my fair 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!


[Exit with Patroclus.]


THERSITES. With too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if with too much brain and too little blood they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain at his brother's leg, to what form but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, 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 fitchook, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or 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; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires!


Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and Diomedes with lights.


AJAX. No, yonder 'tis; There, where we see the lights.


AJAX. No, not a whit.


ULYSSES. Here comes himself to guide you.


ACHILLES. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.


AGAMEMNON. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night; Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.


HECTOR. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' general.


ACHILLES. Good night and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry.


ACHILLES. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company an hour or two.


DIOMEDES. I cannot, lord; I have important business, The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.


HECTOR. Give me your hand.


ULYSSES. [Aside to Troilus.] Follow his torch; he goes to Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company.


HECTOR. And so, good night.


[Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following.]


ACHILLES. Come, come, enter my tent.


[Exeunt all but Thersites.]


THERSITES. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll after. Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets!


SCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before Calchas' tent.


DIOMEDES. What, are you up here, ho! Speak.


CALCHAS. [Within.] Who calls?


DIOMEDES. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter?


CALCHAS. [Within.] She comes to you.


Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.


ULYSSES. Stand where the torch may not discover us.


TROILUS. Cressid comes forth to him.


DIOMEDES. How now, my charge!


CRESSIDA. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.


[Whispers.]


ULYSSES. She will sing any man at first sight.


THERSITES. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she's noted.


DIOMEDES. Will you remember?


DIOMEDES. Nay, but do, then; And let your mind be coupled with your words.


TROILUS. What should she remember?


CRESSIDA. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.


THERSITES. Roguery!


DIOMEDES. Nay, then—


CRESSIDA. I'll tell you what—


DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn.


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


THERSITES. A juggling trick, to be secretly open.


DIOMEDES. What did you swear you would bestow on me?


CRESSIDA. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath; Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.


TROILUS. Hold, patience!


CRESSIDA. Diomed!


DIOMEDES. No, no, good night; I'll be your fool no more.


TROILUS. Thy better must.


CRESSIDA. Hark! a word in your ear.


TROILUS. O plague and madness!


ULYSSES. You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray, Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous; The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.


TROILUS. Behold, I pray you.


ULYSSES. Nay, good my lord, go off; You flow to great distraction; come, my lord.


TROILUS. I pray thee stay.


TROILUS. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments, I will not speak a word.


CRESSIDA. Nay, but you part in anger.


TROILUS. Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth!


ULYSSES. How now, my lord?


TROILUS. By Jove, I will be patient.


CRESSIDA. Guardian! Why, Greek!


CRESSIDA. In faith, I do not. Come hither once again.


ULYSSES. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? You will break out.


TROILUS. She strokes his cheek.


TROILUS. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: There is between my will and all offences A guard of patience. Stay a little while.


THERSITES. How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry!


DIOMEDES. But will you, then?


CRESSIDA. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.


DIOMEDES. Give me some token for the surety of it.


ULYSSES. You have sworn patience.


TROILUS. Fear me not, my lord; I will not be myself, nor have cognition Of what I feel. I am all patience.


THERSITES. Now the pledge; now, now, now!


TROILUS. O beauty! where is thy faith?


ULYSSES. My lord!


TROILUS. I will be patient; outwardly I will.


CRESSIDA. You look upon that sleeve; behold it well. He lov'd me—O false wench!—Give't me again.


DIOMEDES. Whose was't?


CRESSIDA. It is no matter, now I have't again. I will not meet with you tomorrow night. I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.


THERSITES. Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.


DIOMEDES. I shall have it.


CRESSIDA. What, this?


DIOMEDES. Ay, that.


CRESSIDA. O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge! Thy master now lies thinking on 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 doth take my heart withal.


DIOMEDES. I had your heart before; this follows it.


TROILUS. I did swear patience.


CRESSIDA. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not; I'll give you something else.


DIOMEDES. I will have this. Whose was it?


CRESSIDA. It is no matter.


DIOMEDES. Come, tell me whose it was.


CRESSIDA. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you will. But, now you have it, take it.


DIOMEDES. Whose was it?


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


DIOMEDES. Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm, And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.


TROILUS. Wert thou the devil and wor'st it on thy horn, It should be challeng'd.


CRESSIDA. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not; I will not keep my word.


DIOMEDES. Why, then farewell; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.


CRESSIDA. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word But it straight starts you.


DIOMEDES. I do not like this fooling.


THERSITES. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you Pleases me best.


DIOMEDES. What, shall I come? The hour?


CRESSIDA. Ay, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu'd.


DIOMEDES. Farewell till then.


CRESSIDA. Good night. I prithee come.


Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah, 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 sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.


THERSITES. A proof of strength she could not publish more, Unless she said 'My mind is now turn'd whore.'


TROILUS. It is.


ULYSSES. Why stay we, then?


TROILUS. 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? Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, An esperance so obstinately strong, That doth invert th'attest of eyes and ears; As if those organs had deceptious functions Created only to calumniate. Was Cressid here?


TROILUS. She was not, sure.


ULYSSES. Most sure she was.


TROILUS. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.


ULYSSES. Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.


TROILUS. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood. Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, For depravation, to square the general sex By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid.


ULYSSES. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?


TROILUS. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.


THERSITES. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes?


TROILUS. This she? No; this is Diomed's Cressida. If beauty have a soul, this is not she; If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, If sanctimony be the god's delight, If there be rule in unity itself, This was not she. O madness of discourse, That cause sets up with and against itself! Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid. Within my soul there doth conduce a fight Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Divides more wider than the sky and earth; And yet the spacious breadth of this division Admits no orifice for a point as subtle As Ariachne's broken woof to enter. 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 slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd; 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 given to Diomed.


ULYSSES. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd With that which here his passion doth express?


TROILUS. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well In characters as red as Mars his heart Inflam'd with Venus. Never did young man fancy With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love, So much by weight hate I her Diomed. That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm; Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear In his descent than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed.


THERSITES. He'll tickle it for his concupy.


TROILUS. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, And they'll seem glorious.


ULYSSES. O, contain yourself; Your passion draws ears hither.


AENEAS. 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.


TROILUS. Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu. Fairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed, Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.


ULYSSES. I'll bring you to the gates.


TROILUS. Accept distracted thanks.


[Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses.]


THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!


SCENE III. Troy. Before Priam's palace.


Enter Hector and Andromache.


ANDROMACHE. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd To stop his ears against admonishment? Unarm, unarm, and do not fight today.


HECTOR. You train me to offend you; get you in. By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.


ANDROMACHE. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.


CASSANDRA. Where is my brother Hector?


ANDROMACHE. Here, sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent. Consort with me in 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.


HECTOR. Ho! bid my trumpet sound.


CASSANDRA. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!


HECTOR. Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.


CASSANDRA. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; They are polluted off'rings, more abhorr'd Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.


ANDROMACHE. O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy To hurt by being just. It is as lawful, For we would give much, to use violent thefts And rob in the behalf of charity.


CASSANDRA. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; But vows to every purpose must not hold. Unarm, sweet Hector.


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?


ANDROMACHE. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.


HECTOR. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth; I am today i' th'vein of chivalry. Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I'll stand today for thee and me and Troy.


TROILUS. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion than a man.


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


TROILUS. When many times the captive Grecian falls, Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise and live.


HECTOR. O, 'tis fair play!


TROILUS. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.


TROILUS. For th' love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!


TROILUS. Hector, then 'tis wars.


HECTOR. Troilus, I would not have you fight today.


TROILUS. Who should withhold me? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'er-galled with recourse of tears; Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin.


Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.


CASSANDRA. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together.


PRIAM. Come, Hector, come, go back. Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions; Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt To tell thee that this day is ominous. Therefore, come back.


HECTOR. Aeneas is a-field; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning to them.


PRIAM. Ay, but thou shalt not go.


HECTOR. 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.


CASSANDRA. O Priam, yield not to him!


ANDROMACHE. Do not, dear father.


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


[Exit Andromache.]


TROILUS. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements.


CASSANDRA. O, farewell, dear Hector! Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale. Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents. Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out; How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth; Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, Like witless antics, one another meet, And all cry, 'Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!'


CASSANDRA. Farewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave. Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.


HECTOR. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim. Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight, Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.


PRIAM. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!


[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums.]


TROILUS. They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe, I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.


TROILUS. What now?


PANDARUS. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.


TROILUS. Let me read.


PANDARUS. A whoreson tisick, a 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, and such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs'd I cannot tell what to think on't. What says she there?


TROILUS. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; Th'effect doth operate another way.


[Tearing the letter.]


Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. My love with words and errors still she feeds, But edifies another with her deeds.


SCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp.


Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.


THERSITES. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain see them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore there might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve back to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O' the other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not prov'd worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur, Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.


Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.


Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.


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


DIOMEDES. Thou dost miscall retire. I do not fly; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude. Have at thee!


THERSITES. Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore, Trojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!


[Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting.]


Enter Hector.


HECTOR. What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match? Art thou of blood and honour?


THERSITES. No, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.


HECTOR. I do believe thee. Live.


THERSITES. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them.


SCENE V. Another part of the plain.


Enter Diomedes and a Servant.


DIOMEDES. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid. Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, And am her knight by proof.


SERVANT. I go, my lord.


Enter Agamemnon.


AGAMEMNON. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas Hath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon Hath Doreus prisoner, And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, Upon the pashed corses of the kings Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain; Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt; Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes Sore hurt and bruis'd. The dreadful Sagittary Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed, To reinforcement, or we perish all.


NESTOR. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles, And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. There is a thousand Hectors in the field; Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot, And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, Fall down before him like the mower's swath. Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes; Dexterity so obeying appetite That what he will he does, and does so much That proof is call'd impossibility.


ULYSSES. O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons, That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it, Roaring for Troilus; who hath done today Mad and fantastic execution, Engaging and redeeming of himself With such a careless force and forceless care As if that lust, in very spite of cunning, Bade him win all.


AJAX. Troilus! thou coward Troilus!


DIOMEDES. Ay, there, there.


NESTOR. So, so, we draw together.


ACHILLES. Where is this Hector? Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector.


SCENE VI. Another part of the plain.


AJAX. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.


DIOMEDES. Troilus, I say! Where's Troilus?


AJAX. What wouldst thou?


DIOMEDES. I would correct him.


AJAX. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!


TROILUS. O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.


DIOMEDES. Ha! art thou there?


AJAX. I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.


DIOMEDES. He is my prize. I will not look upon.


TROILUS. Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both!


[Exeunt fighting.]


HECTOR. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!


ACHILLES. Now do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!


HECTOR. Pause, if thou wilt.


ACHILLES. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. Be happy that my arms are out of use; My rest and negligence befriend thee now, But thou anon shalt hear of me again; Till when, go seek thy fortune.


HECTOR. Fare thee well. I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee.


How now, my brother!


TROILUS. Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too, Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say: I reck not though thou end my life today.


Enter one in armour.


HECTOR. 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.


SCENE VII. Another part of the plain.


Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.


ACHILLES. 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 arms. Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye. It is decreed Hector the great must die.


Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.


THERSITES. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-hen'd Spartan! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. 'Ware horns, ho!


Enter Margarelon.


MARGARELON. Turn, slave, and fight.


THERSITES. What art thou?


MARGARELON. A bastard son of Priam's.


THERSITES. I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard.


MARGARELON. The devil take thee, coward!


SCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.


HECTOR. Most putrified core so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!


Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.


ACHILLES. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set, How ugly night comes breathing at his heels; Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done.


HECTOR. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.


ACHILLES. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.


[Hector falls.]


So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain 'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'


[A retreat sounded.]


Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.


MYRMIDON. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.


ACHILLES. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth And, stickler-like, the armies separates. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.


[Sheathes his sword.]


Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail.


SCENE IX. Another part of the plain.


Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes and the rest, marching.


AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this?


SOLDIERS. [Within.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles!


DIOMEDES. The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.


AJAX. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; Great Hector was as good a man as he.


AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent. If in his death the gods have us befriended; Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.


SCENE X. Another part of the plain.


Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.


AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. Never go home; here starve we out the night.


TROILUS. Hector is slain.


ALL. Hector! The gods forbid!


TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail, In beastly sort, dragg'd 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 destructions on.


AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.


TROILUS. 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 call'd Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.' There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; Hector is dead; there is 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-siz'd coward, No space of 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 shall hide our inward woe.


PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you!


TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!


PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor agent despis'd! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov'd, 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 subdu'd in armed trail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.


Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths. As many as be here of Pandar's 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. It should be now, but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss. Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases, And at that time bequeath you my diseases.


ACT I Scene I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Scene II. The sea-coast. Scene III. A Room in Olivia's House. Scene IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Scene V. A Room in Olivia's House.


ACT II Scene I. The sea-coast. Scene II. A street. Scene III. A Room in Olivia's House. Scene IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Scene V. Olivia's garden.


ACT III Scene I. Olivia's garden. Scene II. A Room in Olivia's House. Scene III. A street. Scene IV. Olivia's garden.


ACT IV Scene I. The Street before Olivia's House. Scene II. A Room in Olivia's House. Scene III. Olivia's Garden.


ACT V Scene I. The Street before Olivia's House.


ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. VALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke CURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke VIOLA, in love with the Duke. SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola. A SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian. OLIVIA, a rich Countess. MARIA, Olivia's Woman. SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia. SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. FABIAN, Servant to Olivia. CLOWN, Servant to Olivia. PRIEST Lords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.


SCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.


SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.


Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians attending.


DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again, it had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.


DUKE. What, Curio?


CURIO. The hart.


DUKE. Why so I do, the noblest that I have. O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?


VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her sad remembrance.


DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd Her sweet perfections with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers, Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.


SCENE II. The sea-coast.


Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.


VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?


CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.


VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd. What think you, sailors?


CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd.


VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.


CAPTAIN. True, madam; and to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number sav'd with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves So long as I could see.


VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold! Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country?


CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.


VIOLA. Who governs here?


CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.


VIOLA. What is his name?


VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him. He was a bachelor then.


CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late; For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know, What great ones do, the less will prattle of) That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.


VIOLA. What's she?


CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died; for whose dear love They say, she hath abjur'd the company And sight of men.


VIOLA. O that I served that lady, And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is.


CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass, Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the Duke's.


VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my aid For such disguise as haply shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.


CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.


VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on.


SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House.


Enter Sir Toby and Maria.


SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.


MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.


SIR TOBY. Why, let her except, before excepted.


MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.


SIR TOBY. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.


MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.


SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?


MARIA. Ay, he.


SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.


MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?


SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.


MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats. He's a very fool, and a prodigal.


SIR TOBY. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.


MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.


SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?


MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.


SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo: for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.


AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?


SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!


SIR ANDREW. Bless you, fair shrew.


MARIA. And you too, sir.


SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.


SIR ANDREW. What's that?


SIR TOBY. My niece's chamber-maid.


SIR ANDREW. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.


MARIA. My name is Mary, sir.


SIR ANDREW. Good Mistress Mary Accost,—


SIR TOBY. You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.


SIR ANDREW. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?


SIR TOBY. And thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again.


SIR ANDREW. And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?


MARIA. Sir, I have not you by the hand.


SIR ANDREW. Marry, but you shall have, and here's my hand.


MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th' buttery bar and let it drink.


SIR ANDREW. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?


MARIA. It's dry, sir.


SIR ANDREW. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?


SIR ANDREW. Are you full of them?


MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.


SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?


SIR ANDREW. Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.


SIR ANDREW. And I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.


SIR TOBY. Pourquoy, my dear knight?


SIR ANDREW. What is pourquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but followed the arts!


SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.


SIR ANDREW. Why, would that have mended my hair?


SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.


SIR ANDREW. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?


SIR TOBY. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.


SIR ANDREW. Faith, I'll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me; the Count himself here hard by woos her.


SIR TOBY. She'll none o' the Count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.


SIR ANDREW. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.


SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?


SIR ANDREW. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.


SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?


SIR ANDREW. Faith, I can cut a caper.


SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't.


SIR ANDREW. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.


SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.


SIR ANDREW. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam'd-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?


SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?


SIR ANDREW. Taurus? That's sides and heart.


SIR TOBY. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent!


SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.


Enter Valentine and Viola in man's attire.


VALENTINE. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.


VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?


Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.


VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.


VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here.


DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her, Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou have audience.


VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me.


DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return.


VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?


DUKE. O then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.


VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.


DUKE. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say thou art a man: Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair. Some four or five attend him: All, if you will; for I myself am best When least in company. Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine.


VIOLA. I'll do my best To woo your lady. [Aside.] Yet, a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.


SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's House.


Enter Maria and Clown.


MARIA. Nay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.


CLOWN. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours.


MARIA. Make that good.


CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.


MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I fear no colours.


CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?


MARIA. In the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.


CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.


MARIA. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away; is not that as good as a hanging to you?


CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out.


MARIA. You are resolute then?


CLOWN. Not so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.


MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall.


CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.


MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.


Enter Olivia with Malvolio.


CLOWN. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!


OLIVIA. Take the fool away.


CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.


OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest.


CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything that's mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say again, take her away.


OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.


CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.


CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.


OLIVIA. Make your proof.


CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.


OLIVIA. Well sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof.


CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?


OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.


CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.


OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.


CLOWN. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.


OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?


MALVOLIO. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.


CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.


OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?


MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.


OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.


CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fools!


MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you.


OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?


MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.


OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?


OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!


Go you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home. What you will, to dismiss it.


Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.


CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.


Enter Sir Toby.


OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?


SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. A plague o' these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?


CLOWN. Good Sir Toby.


OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?


SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.


OLIVIA. Ay, marry, what is he?


SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.


CLOWN. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.


OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drowned. Go, look after him.


CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.


MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's fortified against any denial.


OLIVIA. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.


MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you.


OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?


MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.


OLIVIA. What manner of man?


MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.


OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?


MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling, when 'tis almost an apple. 'Tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.


OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.


MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.


OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face. We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.


VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?


OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?


VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.