To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. EPILOGUE. 66 'Tis ten to one this play can never please ΤΟ [Exeunt. 10 SCENE: Troy, and the Grecian camp before it. PROLOGUE. IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 10 Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are: ACT I. SCENE I. Troy. Before Priam's palace. Enter TROILUS armed, and Pandarus. Tro. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again: Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, Less valiant than the virgin in the night And skilless as unpractised infancy. 10 Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. 20 Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word "hereafter the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, So, traitor! "When she comes!" When is she thence? 31 Pun. 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, But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 40 Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's-well, go to-there were no more comparison between the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee Pandarus, When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, 50 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad In Cressid's love thou answer'st "she is fair;" Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, In whose comparison all whites are ink, 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; Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me Pan. I speak no more than truth. Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own 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. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair [ACT 1. as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter. Tro. Paudarus, Pan. Not I. Tro. Sweet Pandarus, Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. 91 Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, [Exit Pandarus. An alarum. When with your blood you daily paint her thus. It is too starved a subject for my sword. But Pandarus,-Oh gods, how do you plague me! Alarum. Enter ENEAS. 100 Ene. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home and hurt. Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn. 110 [Alarum. Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither? Ene. In all swift haste. Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. |