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Ther. A wonder!
And I myself see not the bottom of it.
Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had for himself. rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.
Achil. How so?
Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.
Achil. How can that be?
Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride and a stand: ruminates, like a 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, an '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'the combat, he'll break it himself in vain-glory. 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 is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin.
Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.
Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him,-I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, memnon. Do this.
Patr. Jove bless great Ajax.
Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,
Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite Hector to his tent!
Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga
Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.
Patr. Your answer, sir.
Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.
Ene. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
Dio. We sympathize:-Jove, let Æneas live,
Dio. We do; and long to know each other
Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make lings! on.
SCENE I-Troy. A street. Enter, at one side,
Par. See, ho! who's that there?
Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.
Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable2 creature. Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
(1) Lute-strings made of catgut. (2) Intelligent.
'Tis the lord Æneas. ne. 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. Dio. That's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Æneas.
Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand.
Health to you, valiant sir,
Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.-What business, lord, so early?
Æne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know
To Calchas' house; and there to render him,
There is no help;
Par. His purpose meets you; 'Twas to bring this Greek
Ene. Good morrow, all.
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,-
Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman.
false drop in her bawdy veins
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.-
A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
Par Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
He shall unbolt the gates.
Good morrow then.
Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed.
Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays,
Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he be
mocking: I shall have such a life,
-Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid? Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle !
You bring me to do,2 and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what? to do what?-let her say what: what have I brought you to do?
Cres. Come, come; beshrew3 your heart! you'll ne'er be good,
Nor suffer others.
Pan. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchia 4-hast not slept to-night? would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him!
(1) Lewd, noisy.
(2) To do is here used in a wanton sense.
[Knocking. Cres. Did I not tell you?-'Would he were knock'd o'the head!
Tro. Ha, ha!
Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.[Knocking. How earnestly they knock !-pray you, come in; I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? How
now? what's the matter?
Ene. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Pan. Who's there? my lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not: what news with you so early? Ene. Is not prince Troilus here?
Pan. Here! what should he do here?
Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him; It doth import him much, to speak with me.
Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn :-For my own part, I came in late:
What should he do here?
Ene. Who-nay, then :
Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware:
As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love,
You men will never tarry-
Tro. How my achievements mock me!
Pan. [Within.] What, are all the doors open here? We met by chance; you did not find me here.
Ene Good, good, my lord; the secrets of na
Have not more gift in taciturnity.
As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. Tro. How now? what's the matter?
Ene. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute
My matter is so rash :5 There is at hand
[Exeunt Troilus and Æneas. Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The devil take Antenor! the young prince will mad. Pan. How now, how now? how go maiden- A plague upon Antenor: I would, they had broke's heads? neck!
(3) Ill betide.
(4) An Italian word for poor fool. (5) Hasty. 2 L
Cres. O you immortal gods!-I will not go.
Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;
Cres. 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. [Exeunt. SCENE III-The same. Before Pandarus' house. Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, bus, Antenor, and Diomedes.
Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd
Cres. O Troilus! Troilus! [Embracing him. Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too: O heart!-as the goodly saying is,
o heart, o heavy heart,
Because thou canst not ease thy smart,
If I could temporize with my affection,
Pan. Here, here, here he comes.-Ah, sweet ducks!
(1) Sense or feeling of relationship. (2) Sealed.
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Ene. [Within.] My lord! is the lady ready?
Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die.-Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, Walk in to her house; or my heart will be blown up by the root! 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 offering to it his own heart. [Exit.
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help!-
Cres. Why tell you me of moderation?
Cres. I must then to the Greeks?
Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the
Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem1 is
Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us:
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee;
As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it? But be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequents protestation; be thou true,
No remedy. merry Greeks?
Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you?
But something may be done, that we will not:
Tro. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault: While others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and
Dei. Let us make ready straight.
ne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, preg-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.
I'll answer to my lust :5 And know you, lord,
Tro. 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 Diomed. [Trumpet heard.
Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. Ene. How have we spent this morning! The prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field.
Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come, to field with him.
He rises on the toe: that spirit of his
Enter Diomed, with Cressida. Agam. Is this the lady Cressid? Dio. Even she. Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.
Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general.
Nest. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.So much for Nestor.
Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: Achilles bids you welcome.
Men. I had good argument for kissing once. Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now: . For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment; And parted thus you and your argument.
Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
I do desire it.
Why, beg then.
Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.
Yonder comes the troop. Enter Hector, armed; Æneas, Troilus, and other Trojans, with Attendants.
Ene. Hail, all the state of Greece! what shall
To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose,
Agam. Which way would Hector have it?
If not Achilles, sir,
If not Achilles, nothing.
In the extremity of great and little,
(1) Motion. (2) Breathing, exercise. (3) Stops. (4) No boaster. (5) Unsuitable to his character. (6) Yields, gives way.
Agam. Here is sir Diomed :-Go, gentle knight,
Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam. a true knight;
second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own!
Agam. His blows are well dispos'd:-there,
Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease.
Hect. Not Neoptolemus12 so mirable