Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

Tro. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in 24 the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;

28

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor, then she comes, when she is thence.

32

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

Tro. I was about to tell thee, when my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me:
I have-as when the sun doth light a storm—
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile;

But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

36

40

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, well, go to,—there were no more 44 comparison between the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not 48 dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, butTro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,

When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,

22 leavening: fermenting (of dough)

sufferance: endurance

30 blench: flinch

33 So... thence; cf. n.

39 a storm; cf. n.

43 An: if

29 what: what kind of 37 rive: split

41

couch'd: lying conealed 44 go to: never mind

Troilus and Cressida, I. i

Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
In Cressid's love; thou answer'st, she is fair;

Pour'st in the

ulcer of my open

heart

"with sensuous

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voicement Handlest in thy discourse, O! that her hand,

In whose comparison all whites are ink,

60

Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 64
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in 't. Let her be 68 as she is. If she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus?

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

72

76

Tro. What! art thou angry, Pandarus? what! with me?

Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on 80 Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she

were a blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say I she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. 84
She's a fool to stay behind her father; let her
to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time
I see her.
For my part, I'll meddle nor make

no more i' th' matter.

Tro. Pandarus,—

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,

88

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me! I will 92 leave all as I found it, and there an end.

Exit Pand[arus]. Sound Alarum.

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude

sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus,―O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo

96

100

As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,

What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;
Between our Ilium and where she resides
Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood,
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.
Alarum. Enter Eneas.

82 blackamoor: Ethiopian 94 ungracious: unpleasing 101 tetchy: fretful, peevish 109 convoy: conveyance

104

108

85 She's... father; cf. n. 97 I... argument; cf. n. 103 Daphne's; cf. n.

Ene. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

Tro. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,___ For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Eneas?

Ene.

112

Troilus, by Menelaus.

116

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

Alarum.

Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! Tro. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.' But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither? 120 Ene. In all swift haste.

Tro.

Come, go we then together.

Exeunt.

Scene Two

[The Same. A Street]

Enter Cressid and [Alexander] her man.

Cres. Who were those went by?

Man.

Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Up to the eastern tower,

Cres. And whither go they?
Man.

Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd.
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer,
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he, where every flower

111 sorts: fits

116 scar: wound

5 Is. fix'd; cf. n.
8 harness'd light: clad in light armor

117 Menelaus' horn; cf. n. 7 husbandry: thrift, diligence

Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw

In Hector's wrath.

Cres.

What was his cause of anger?

Man. The noise goes, this: there is among the

Greeks

A lord of Troyan blood, nephew to Hector;

They call him Ajax.

Cres.

12

Good; and what of him?

16

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

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

Man. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is as 20 valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant; a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is 24 no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair. He hath the joints of 28 everything, but everything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblinded Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes 32 me smile, make Hector angry?

Man. They say he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain

26 attaint: fault, stain on honor

23 humours: caprices, whims; cf. n.

25

glimpse of: tinge of 27 stain: tincture

31 Argus; cf. n.

28 against the hair: contrary to the natural tendency 30 Briareus; cf. n.

34 cop'd: met and fought with

35 disdain: vexation