Ser. The Lord be praised. Pa. You know me, doe you not? Ser. Faith sir, superficially. Pa. Friend know me better, I am the Lord Pandarus. Ser. I hope I shall know your honour better. Pa. I doe desire it. Ser. You are in the state of Grace? Pa. Grace, not so friend, honor and Lordship are my title: What Musique is this? Ser. I doe but partly know sir: it is Musicke in parts. Pa. Know you the Musitians. Ser. Wholly sir. Pa. Who play they to? Ser. To the hearers sir. Pa. At whose pleasure friend? Ser. At mine sir, and theirs that love Musicke. Pa. Command, I meane friend. Ser. Who shall I command sir? Pa. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request doe these men play? Ser. That's too't indeede sir: marry sir, at the request of Paris L. who's there in person: with him the mortall Venus, the heart bloud of beauty, loves invisible soule. my Pa. Who? my Cosin Cressida. Ser. No sir, Helen, could you not finde out that by her attributes? Pa. It should seeme fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speake with Paris from the Prince Troylus : I will make a complementall assault upon him, for my businesse seethes. Ser. Sodden businesse, there's a stewed phrase indeede. Enter Paris and Helena. Pan. Faire be to you my Lord, and to all this faire company : faire desires in all faire measure fairely guide them, especially to you faire Queene, faire thoughts be your faire pillow. Hel. Deere L. you are full of faire words. Pan. You speake your faire pleasure sweete Queene: faire Prince, here is good broken Musicke. Par. You have broke it cozen: and by my life you shall make it whole againe, you shall peece it out with a peece of your performance. Nel, he is full of harmony. Pan. Truely Lady no. Hel. O sir. Pan. Rude in sooth, in good sooth very rude. Paris. Well said my Lord: well, you say so in fits. Pan. I have businesse to my Lord, deere Queene: my Lord will you vouchsafe me a word. Hel. Nay, this shall not hedge us out, weele heare you sing certainely. Pan. Well sweete Queene you are pleasant with me, but, marry thus my Lord, my deere Lord, and most esteemed friend brother Troylus. Hel. My Lord Pandarus, hony sweete Lord. Pan. Go too sweete Queene, goe to. Commends himselfe most affectionately to you. Hel. You shall not bob us out of our melody: If you doe, our melancholly upon your head. your Pan. Sweete Queene, sweete Queene, that's a sweete Queene Ifaith Hel. And to make a sweet Lady sad, is a sower offence. Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turne, that shall it not in truth la. Nay, I care not for such words, no, no. And my Lord he desires you, that if the King call for him at Supper, you will make his excuse. Hel. My Lord Pandarus? Pan. What saies my sweete Queene, my very, very sweete Queene? Par. What exploit's in hand, where sups he to night? Hel. Nay but my Lord? Pan. What saies my sweete Queene? my cozen will fall out with you. Hel. You must not know where he sups. Par. With my disposer Cressida. Pan. No, no; no such matter, you are wide, come your Par. Well, Ile make excuse. dis Pan. I good my Lord: why should you say Cressida? no, your poore disposer's sicke. Par. I spie. Pan. You spie, what doe you spie: come, give me an Instrument now sweete Queene. Hel. Why this is kindely done? Pan. My Neece is horrible in love with a thing you have sweete Queene. Hel. She shall have it my Lord, if it be not my Lord Paris. Pand. Hee? no, sheele none of him, they two are twaine. Hel. Falling in after falling out, may make them three. Pan. Come, come, Ile heare no more of this, Ile sing you a song now. Hel. I, I, prethee now: by my troth sweet Lord thou hast a fine fore-head. Pan. I you may, you may. Hel. Let thy song be love: this love will undoe us al. Oh Cupid, Cupid, Cupid. Pan. Love? I that it shall yfaith. Par. I, good now love, love, no thing but love. Pan. In good troth it begins so. Love, love, nothing but love, still more: For O loves Bow, Shootes Bucke and Doe: The Shaft confounds not that it wounds, These Lovers cry, oh ho they dye; Yet that which seemes the wound to kill, So dying love lives still, O ho grones out for ha ha ha-hey ho. Hel. In love yfaith to the very tip of the nose. Par. He eates nothing but doves love, and that breeds hot bloud, and hot bloud begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deedes, and hot deedes is love. Pan. Is this the generation of love? Hot bloud, hot thoughts, and hot deedes, why they are Vipers, is Love a generation of Vipers ? Sweete Lord whose a field to day? Par. Hedor, Deiphabus, Helenus, Anthenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would faine have arm'd to day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troylus went not? Hel. He hangs the lippe at something; you know all Lord Pandarus? Pan. Not I hony sweete Queene: I long to heare how they sped to day: Youle remember your brothers excuse? Par. To a hayre. Pan. Farewell sweete Queene. Hel. Commend me to your Neece. Pan. I will sweete Queene. Sound a retreat. Par. They're come from fielde: let us to Priams Hall Hel. "Twill make us proud to be his servant Paris : Gives us more palme in beautie then we have: Yea overshines our selfe. Sweete above thought I love thee, Exeunt. Enter Pandarus and Troylus Man. Pan. How now, where's thy Maister, Cressidas? Man. No sir, he stayes for you to conduct him thither. Enter Troylus. Pan. O here he comes: How now, how now? Pan. Have you seene my Cousin ? Troy. No Pandarus: I stalke about her doore Pan. Walke here ith'Orchard, Ile bring her straight. Exit Pandarus. Troy. I am giddy; expectation whirles me round, That it inchants my sence: what will it be Loves thrice reputed Nectar? Death I feare me I feare it much, and I doe feare besides, That I shall loose distincton in my joyes, |