TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT I. SCENE I.-Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter TROILUS armed; and PANDARUS. Troilus. 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; 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 tarry the grinding. 6 my varlet,] This word anciently signified a servant or footman to a knight or warrior. 7 - fonder —] i, e. more weak, or foolish. 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? 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, 8 Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,- Tro. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, 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, Reply not in how many fathoms deep off. 8 Doth lesser blench] To blench is to shrink, start, or fly They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Writing their own reproach; To whose soft seizure 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 travel; 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 is kin to me, therefore she is not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all Hard as the palm of ploughman!] In comparison with Cressida's hand, says he, the spirit of sense, the utmost degree, the most exquisite power of sensibility, which implies a soft hand, since the sense of touching, as Scaliger says in his Exercitations, resides chiefly in the fingers, is hard as the callous and insensible palm of the ploughman. 1 she has the mends -] She may make the best of a bad bargain. This is a proverbial saying. Tro. Say I, she is not fair? She's a Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. 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 in the matter. Tro. Pandarus,— 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. [Exit PANDARUS. An Alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. Alarum. Enter ENEAS. 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, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. 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? Ene. In all swift haste. Cres. And whither go they? Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, He chid Andromache and struck his armourer; Cres. What was his cause of anger? Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him, Ajax. husbandry in war,] Husbandry means economical pru dence. Alexander alludes to Hector's early rising. |