In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made, With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks. Pandarus, uncle to Cressida. Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. Agamemnon, the Grecian general: Menelaus, his brother. Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. Alexander, servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus; servant to Paris; servant to Diomedes. Helen, wife to Menelaus. Andromache, wife to Hector. Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess. Cressida, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek soldiers, and attendants. SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian camp before it. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 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; 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. 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, B 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? Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer that ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Tro. I was about to teli thee,-When my heart, But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 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, They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Writing their own reproach; To whose soft seizure Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me, 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. |