All language subtitles for Troilus.Cressida.1981.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

[flute music]

[Narrator] In Troy, there lies the scene.

From isles of Greece The princes orgulous,

their high blood chafed,

have to the port of
Athens sent their ships,

fraught with the ministers and instruments

of cruel war.

60 and nine, that wore
their crownets regal,

from the Athenian bay
put forth toward Phrygia.

And their vow is made

to ransack Troy,

within whose strong
immures the ravished Helen,

Menelaus' queen,

with wanton Paris sleeps.

And that's the quarrel.

To Tenedos they come,

And the deep-drawing barks do there

disgorge their warlike fraughtage.

Now on Dardan plains, the fresh and yet

unbruised Greeks do pitch
their brave pavilions.

Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan and Tymbria,

Helias, Chetas,

Troien and Antenorides,

with massy staples and
corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,

Sperr up the sons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits

on one and other side, Trojan and Greek,

sets all on hazard.

And hither. am I come,

a prologue armed,

but not in confidence Of author's pen

nor actor's voice,

but suited in like
conditions as our argument,

to tell you, fair
beholders, that our play,

leaps o'er the vaunt and
firstlings of those broils.

Beginning in the middle,

starting thence away

to what may be digested in a play.

Like or find fault,

do as your pleasures are.

Now good or bad,

'tis but the chance of war.

[heralding trumpets]

Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again.

Why should I war without
the walls of Troy,

that find such cruel battle here within?

Each Trojan that is master of his heart,

let him to field.

Troilus, alas, hath none.

Will this gear ne'er be

mended?

The Greeks are strong and
skillful 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 unpracticed infancy.

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.

Have I not tarried?

Aye, the grinding, but you
must tarry the bolting.

Have I not tarried?

Aye, the bolting, but you
must tarry the leavening.

Still have I tarried?

Aye, 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.

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,

Arg.

So, traitor, then she
comes, when she is thence?

Well, she looked yester night

fairer than ever

I saw her look,

or any woman else.

I was about to tell thee,
when my heart is wedged

with a sigh, would rive in twain,

lest Hector or my father
should perceive me.

I have, as when the
sun doth light a storm,

buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.

But sorrow, that is couched
in seeming gladness,

is like that mirth fate

turns to sudden sadness.

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.

Oh hoo hoo hoo hoo.

I would not dispraise your
sister Cassandra's wit but when.

Oh Pandarus!

I tell thee, Pandarus,

When I do tell thee, there
my hopes lie drowned,

reply not in how many fathoms deep

they lie indrenched.

I tell thee I am mad in Cressid's love,

thou answers 'she is fair',

pourest in the open ulcer of my heart.

Her eyes, her hair, her
gait, her voice, her cheek,

handlest in thy discourse.

Oh that her hand, 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 tellest me,
as true thou tellest me,

when I say I love her.

But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou layest in every gash
that love hath given me

the knife that made it.

I speak no more than truth.

Thou dost not speak so much.

Oh.

Faith, I'll not meddle in her.

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.

Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus.

I have

my labor

for my travail.

Ill-thought of, of her

and ill-thought of of you.

Gone between and between,

but small thanks for my labor.

[sigh]

What,

art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?

Because she's kin to me,

therefore she's not as fair as Helen,

an she were not kin to
me, she would be as fair

a Friday as Helen is on Sunday.

But what care I?

I care not if she were a black-a-moor,

'tis all one to me.

Say I she is not fair?

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
no more in the matter.

Pandarus.

Not I.

Sweet Pandarus.

I pray you, speak no more to me.

I will leave all as I found it,

and there an end.

[trumpets heralding]

Peace, you ungracious clamors!

Peace, rude sounds.

[sigh]

Fools on both sides.

Helen must needs be fair
when with your blood

you daily paint her thus.

I cannot fight upon this argument.

It is too starved a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus,

oh gods,

how do you plague me.

I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar,

and he's as tetchy to be wooed to woo,

as she is stubborn-chaste
against all suit.

Tell me,

Apollo,

for thy Daphne's love,

what

Cressid

is,

what Pandar,

and what we?

Her bed is India,

there she lies,

a pearl.

Between our Ilium and where she resides,

let it be called the
wild and wandering flood,

Ourself

the merchant,

and this sailing Pandar our doubtful hope,

our convoy and our bark.

How now,

Prince Troilus.

Wherefore not afield?

Because not there.

Ah.

this woman's answer
sorts, for womanish it is

to be from thence.

What news Aeneas from the field today?

That Paris is returned home and hurt.

By whom Aeneas?

Oh Troilus, by Menelaus.

Let Paris bleed,

'tis but a scar to scorn,

Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

[laughter]

[trumpets heralding]

Hark, what good sport
is out of town today.

Better at home,

would I might, were may.

But to the sport abroad,

are you bound thither?

In all swift haste.

Come, go we then together.

Who were those went by?

Queen Hecuba and Helen.

And whither go they?

Up to the eastern tower,

Whose height commands
as subject all the vale,

To see the battle.

Hector, whose patience is

as a virtue fixed,

today was moved.

He chid Andromache

and struck his armor,

And, like as there were husbandry in war,

before the sun rose he
was harnessed light,

and to the field goes he.

Where every flower did, as a prophet, weep

what it foresaw in Hector's wrath.

What was his cause of anger?

The noise goes this,
there is among the Greeks

a lord of Trojan blood,

a nephew to Hector,

they call him Ajax.

Good, and what of him?

They say he is a very man per se,

and stands alone.

So do all men,

unless they are drunk,

sick,

or have no legs.

This man, lady, hath
robbed many beasts of their

particular additions.

He is as valiant as the lion,

as churlish as the bear,

as slow as the elephant,

a man into whom nature hath so crowded

humors that his valor
is crushed into folly,

his folly sauced with discretion.

There is no man hath a virtue that he

hath not a glimpse of,

nor any man an attaint but he carries some

stain of it.

He is melancholy without cause,

and merry against the hair.

He hath the joints of every thing,

but everything so

out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus,

many hands and no use,

or purblind Argus,

all eyes and no sight.

But how should this man, that makes

me smile, make Hector angry?

They say he yesterday coped
Hector in the battle and

struck him down.

The disdain and shame whereof hath

ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Who comes here?

Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Hector's a gallant man.

As may be in the world, lady.

What's that?

what's that?

Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Good morrow, cousin Cressid,

what do you talk of?

Good morrow, Alexander.
How do you, cousin?

When were you at Ilium?

This morning uncle.

What were you talking of when I came?

Was Hector armed and gone

ere ye came to Ilium?

Helen was not up was she?

Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.

Even so.

Hector was stirring early.

That were we talking of,

and of his anger.

Oh was he angry?

So he says here.

True, he was so.

I know the cause too.

He'll lay about him today,
I can tell them that,

and there's Troilus will
not come far behind him.

Let them take heed of Troilus,

I can tell them that too.

What, is he angry too?

Who, Troilus?

Troilus is the better man of the two.

Oh Jupiter, there's no comparison.

What,

not between Troilus and Hector?

Do you know a man if you see him?

Aye, if ever I saw him
before and knew him.

Well,

[tutting]

I say Troilus is Troilus.

Then you say as I say, for
I'm sure, he's not Hector.

No, nor Hector is not
Troilus in some degrees.

'Tis just to each of them, he is himself.

Himself!

Huh.

Alas, poor Troilus, I would he were.

So he is.

Condition, I had gone

barefoot to India.

He's not Hector.

Himself, no, he's not himself,

would a' were himself.

[laughter]

Well,

the gods are above,

time must friend or end.

Well, Troilus, well.

I would my heart were in

her body.

No,

Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Excuse me.

He is elder.

Pardon me, pardon me.

The other's not come to it yet,

you shall tell me another tale,

when the other's come to it.

Hector shall not have his wit this year.

He shall not need it, if he have his own.

Nor his qualities.

No matter.

Nor his beauty.

'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Oh,

you have no

judgment niece.

Helen herself

swore the other day,

that for a brown favor,

for so it is, I must confess,

not brown neither.

No, but brown.

Faith, to say truth,

brown and

not brown.

To say the truth, true and not true.

She praised his complexion above Paris.

Why, Paris hath color enough.

So he has.

Then Troilus should have too much.

If she praised him above,
his complexion is higher

than his. He having color enough,

and the other higher, is too flaming a

praise for a good complexion.

I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had

commended Troilus for a copper nose.

I swear to you. I think Helen loves

him better than Paris.

Why she's a merry Greek indeed.

Nay, I am sure she does.

She came to him the other day

and puts me her white hand

to his cloven chin.

Juno have mercy, how came it cloven.

Why, you know

'tis dimpled.

I think his smiling becomes him better

than any man in all Phrygia.

Oh he smiles valiantly.

Does he not?

Oh yes,

an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Why, go to then.

I cannot choose but laugh,

to think how she tickled his chin.

She has a marvelous white hand, I

must needs confess.

Without the rack.

And she takes upon herself to spy a

white hair on his chin.

Alas, poor chin.

Many a wart is richer.

But there was such laughing.

Queen Hecuba laughed
and her eyes ran o'er.

With mill-stones.

And Cassandra laughed.

Did her eyes run o'er too?

And Hector laughed.

At what was all this laughing?

Marry,

at the white hair

that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

An had it been a green hair,
I should have laughed too.

They laughed not so much at the hair,

but at his pretty answer.

What was his answer?

Quoth she, "Here about
two and 50 hairs on your

chin, and one of them is white."

This is her question.

"Two and 50 hairs" quoth
he, "and one of them white."

"That white hair is my father,

and all the rest are his sons."

"Jupiter!" quoth she,

"which of these hairs

is Paris,

my husband?"

"The forked one," quoth he,

"pluck it out and give it to him."

But there was such laughing!

And Helen so blushed, an Paris so chafed,

and all the rest so
laughed, that it passed.

So let it now, for it has
been a great while going by.

Well,

cousin.

I told you a thing

yesterday,

think on it.

So I do.

I'll be sworn 'tis true,

he will weep you,

an 'twere a man

born in April.

And I'll spring up in his tears,

an 'twere a nettle against May.

[trumpets play retreat]

Oh Hark! they are coming from the field,

shall we stand up there,

and see them as they
pass toward Ilium, hmm?

Do good niece,

sweet cousin Cressida.

At your pleasure.

Here, here, here's an excellent place.

Here we may see most bravely.

I'll tell you them all by their names

as they pass by, but mark
Troilus above the rest.

Speak not so loud.

That's Aeneas,

is not that a brave man?

He's one of the flowers of Troy,

I can tell you.

But mark Troilus, you
shall see Troilus anon.

Who's that?

That's Antenor.

He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you,

and he's a man good enough,

he's one of the soundest

judgments in Troy, whosoever,

and a proper man of person.

When comes Troilus? I'll
show you Troilus anon.

If he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

Will he give you the nod?

You shall see.

If he do, the rich shall have more.

That's Hector,

that, that, look you,

that, oh ho ho ho,

there's a fellow.

Go thy way, Hector!

There's a brave man, niece.

Oh brave Hector!

Look how he looks.

There's a countenance!

Is't not a brave man?

Oh a brave man.

Is't not?

It does a man's heart good.

Look you what hacks are on his helmet!

look you yonder, do you see?

There's no jesting,

there's laying on,

take't off who will as they say,

there be hacks!

Be those with swords?

Swords, anything,

he cares not, an the devil
comes an it's all one.

By God's lid, it does one's heart good.

Yonder comes Paris,

yonder comes Paris.

Look ye yonder niece.

Is't not a gallant man too,

is it not? Hmm -mm

Why, this is brave now.

Who said he came hurt home today?

He's not hurt.

why, this will do

Helen's heart good now.

Ha, would I could see Troilus now,

You shall see Troilus anon.

Who's that?

That's Helenus.

I marvel where Troilus is.

That's Helenus.

I think he went not forth today.

That's Helenus.

Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Helenus? no. Yes, he'll
fight indifferent well.

I marvel where Troilus is.

Hark, do you not hear
the people cry Troilus?

Helenus is a priest.

What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

Where? yonder? That's Deiphobus.

'Tis Troilus.

There's a man, niece.

Brave Troilus,

the prince of chivalry.

Peace, for shame, peace.

Mark him, note him.

Oh brave Troilus.

Look well upon him, niece.

Look you how his sword is bloodied,

and his helm more hacked than Hector's,

and how he looks,

and how he goes.

Oh admirable youth.

He ne'er saw three and twenty.

Go thy way, Troilus,

go thy way.

Had I a sister were a grace,

or a daughter a goddess,

he should take his choice.

Oh

admirable man.

Paris? Paris is

dirt to him.

And, I warrant Helen to change,

would give an eye to boot.

Here comes more.

Asses, fools, dolts,

chaff and bran,

chaff and bran.

Porridge after meat.

I could live and die
in the eyes of Troilus.

Ne'er look, ne'er look.

The eagles

are gone,

crows and daws,

crows and daws.

I had rather be such a man as Troilus

than Agamemnon and all Greece.

There is amongst the Greeks, Achilles,

a better man than Troilus.

Achilles!

A drayman,

a porter, a very

camel.

Well, well.

Well, well. Have you any discretion?

Have you any eyes? Do
you know what a man is?

Is not birth, beauty, good
shape, manhood, discourse,

learning, gentleness,
virtue, youth, liberality,

and the like,

the spice and salt that season a man?

Aye, a minced man.

And then to be baked
with no date in the pie,

for then the man's date is out.

You are such a woman,

a man knows not, at what ward you lie.

Upon my back, to defend my belly.

Upon my wit, to defend my wiles,

upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty,

my mask, to defend my beauty,

and you, to defend all these.

And at all these wards I lie,

and at a thousand watches.

Say one of your watches.

Nay, I'll watch you for that.

and that's one of the
chiefest of them too.

If I cannot ward, I would not have hit,

I can watch you for telling how I took

the blow.

Unless it swell past hiding,

and then it's past watching.

[laughs]

You are such another.

Sir, my lord would
instantly speak with you.

Where?

At your own house, there he unarms him.

Tell him I come.

Oh. I doubt he be hurt.

Fare ye well, good niece.

Adieu, uncle.

I'll be with you niece, by and by.

To bring, uncle?

Aye, a token

from Troilus.

By the same token, you are a bawd.

Words,

vows,

gifts,

tears,

and love's full sacrifice,

he offers in another's enterprise,

but more in Troilus thousand fold I see

than in the glass of
Pandar's praise may be.

Yet hold I off.

Women are angels, wooing.

Things won are done.

Joys soul lies in the doing.

That she beloved knows
nought, knows not this,

men prize the thing
ungained, more than it is.

That she was never yet that ever knew

love got so sweet as when desire did sue.

Therefore this maxim out of love I teach,

achievement is command,

ungained, beseech.

Then though my heart's
content firm love doth bear,

nothing of that shall
from mine eyes appear.

Princes,

what grief hath set these
jaundice on your cheeks?

The ample proposition that hope makes,

in all designs begun on earth below,

fails in the promised largeness.

Checks and disasters,

grow in the veins of
actions highest reared.

As knots,

by the conflux of meeting sap,

infect the sound pine,

and diverts his grain,

tortive and errant from
his course of growth.

Nor, princes, is it
matter new to us that we

come short of our suppose so far.

That after seven years siege,

yet Troy walls stand.

Sith every action that hath gone before,

Whereof we have record, a trial did draw.

Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,

or that unbodied figure of the thought

that gave't surmised shape.

Why then, you princes, do
you with cheeks abashed

behold our works,

and call them shames?

Which are indeed nought else

but the protractive trials of great Jove

to find persistive constancy in men.

The fineness of which metal is not found

in fortune's love,

for then the bold and coward,

the wise and fool,

the artist and unread,

the hard and soft,

are all affined and kin.

But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,

distinction,

with a broad and powerful fan,

puffing at all,

winnows the light away.

And what hath mass or matter, by itself

lies rich in virtue and unmingled.

With due observance of thy godlike seat,

great Agamemnon, Nestor
shall apply thy latest words.

In the reproof of chance

lies the true proof of men.

The sea being smooth,

how many shallow bauble boats dare sail

upon her patient breast,

making their way with
those of nobler bulk.

But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage

the gentle Thetis, and anon behold

The strong ribbed bark
through liquid mountains cut,

bounding between the two moist elements,

like Perseus' horse.

Where's then the saucy boat

weak untimbered sides but even now

co-rivalled greatness?

Either to harbor fled, or
made a toast for Neptune.

Even so, doth valor's show

and valor's worth divide
in storms of fortune.

For in her ray and
brightness, the herd hath

more annoyance by the
breeze than by the tiger.

But when the splitting
wind makes flexible the

knees of knotted oaks,

and flies fled under shade,

why, then the thing of courage

as roused with rage, with
rage doth sympathize,

and with an accent tuned in selfsame key

retorts to chiding fortune.

Agamemnon,

thou great commander,

nerve and bone of Greece,

heart of our numbers,
soul and only spirit.

in whom the tempers and the minds of all

should be shut up, hear
what Ulysses speaks.

Besides the applause
and approbation to which

most mighty for thy place and sway,

and thou most reverend
for thy stretched out life

I give to both your speeches.

Which were such as Agamemnon
and the hand of Greece

should hold up high in brass.

And such again as venerable Nestor,

hatched in silver, should
with a bond of air,

strong as the axle tree
on which heaven rides,

knit all the Greekish ears
to his experienced tongue.

Yet let it please both,

thou great, and wise,

to hear Ulysses speak.

Speak, prince of Ithaca,

and be it of less expect
that matter needless,

of importless burden, divide thy lips,

then we are confident.

When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,

we shall hear music, wit and oracle.

Troy,

yet upon his basis,

had been down,

and the great Hector's
sword had lacked a master.

But for these instances,

the specialty of rule hath been neglected.

Look, how many Grecian tents do stand

hollow upon this plain,

so many hollow factions.

When that the general is not like the hive

to whom the foragers shall all repair,

what honey is expected?

Degree being vizarded,

the unworthiest shows
as fairly in the mask.

The heavens themselves,
the planets and this center

observe degree, priority and shape,

insisture, course,
proportion, season, form,

office and custom, in all line of order.

And therefore is the glorious planet Sol

in noble eminence enthroned
and sphered amidst the other,

whose medicinable eye corrects the ill

aspects of planets evil,

and posts, like the commandment of a king,

sans check to good and bad.

But when the

planets in evil mixture
to disorder wander,

what plagues

and what portents, what mutiny,

what raging of the sea, shaking of earth.

Commotion in the winds,
frights, horrors, changes,

divert and crack, rend and

deracinate the unity and

married calm of states
quite from their fixture.

Oh, when degree is shaked,

which is the ladder to all high design.

The enterprise is sick,

I mean how could communities,

degrees in schools and
brotherhoods in cities,

peaceful commerce from dividable shores,

The primogenitive and due of birth,

prerogative of age,

crowns, scepters, laurels,

but by degree, stand in authentic place.

Take but degree away, untune that string,

and hark, what discord follows.

Each thing meets in mere oppugnancy.

The bounded waters

should lift their bosoms

higher than the shores and make a sop of

this all solid globe.

Strength should be lord of imbecility,

and the rude son should
strike his father dead.

Force should be right, or
rather, right and wrong,

between whose endless jar justice resides.

Should lose their names,

and so should justice too.

Then every thing includes itself in power,

power into will, will into appetite,

and appetite, an universal wolf,

so doubly seconded with will and power,

must make perforce an universal prey,

and last eat up himself.

Oh great Agamemnon,

this chaos,

when degree is suffocate,

follows the choking.

And this neglection of degree it is

that with a pace goes
backward with a purpose

it hath to climb.

The general's disdained
by him one step below,

he by the next, that next by him beneath.

So every step,

exampled by the first pace

that is sick of his superior,

grows to an envious fever

of pale and bloodless emulation.

And 'tis this fever
that keeps Troy on foot,

not her own sinews.

To end a tale of length,

Troy in our weakness stands,

not in her strength.

Most wisely hath Ulysses here discovered

the fever whereof all our power is sick.

The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,

what is the remedy?

The great Achilles,

whom opinion crowns the sinew
and the forehand of our host,

having his ear full of his airy fame,

grows dainty of his worth,

and in his tent lies mocking our designs.

With him Patroclus,

upon a lazy bed the livelong day

breaks scurril jests,

and with ridiculous and awkward action,

which, slanderer he

imitation calls,

he pageants us.

Sometime great Agamemnon, thy
topless deputation he puts on,

and, like a strutting player,
whose conceit lies in his

hamstring, and doth think
it rich to hear the wooden

dialogue and sound 'twixt
his stretched footing and

the scaffoldage.

Such to be pitied and o'er
wrested seeming he acts

thy greatness in.

And when he speaks, 'tis
like a chime amending,

with terms unsquared
which from the tongue of

roaring Typhon dropped
would seem hyperboles.

At this fusty stuff

the large Achilles, on
his pressed bed lolling,

from his deep chest laughs
out a loud applause,

cries "Oh Excellent, 'tis Agamemnon right.

Now play me Nestor, hem,
and stroke thy beard,

As he being drest to some oration."

That's done, as near as the
extremest ends of parallels,

as like as Vulcan and his wife.

Yet god Achilles still cries "Excellent,

'tis Nestor right. Now
play him me, Patroclus,

arming to answer in a night alarm."

And then, forsooth, the
faint defects of age

must be the scene of mirth,

to cough and spit,

and, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,

shake in and out the rivet.

And at this sport Sir Valor dies, cries

"Oh enough, Patroclus,
or give me ribs of steel,

I shall split all in
pleasure of my spleen."

And in this fashion all our abilities,

gifts, natures, shapes,

severals and generals of grace exact,

achievements, plots, orders, preventions,

excitements to the field,
or speech for truce.

Success or loss, what is or is not,

serves as stuff for these
two to make paradoxes.

And in the imitation of these twain,

who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns

with an imperial voice many are infect.

Ajax is grown self
willed, and bears his head

in such a rein, in full as proud a place

as broad Achilles.

Keeps his tent like him,

makes factious feasts,

rails on our state of war,

bold as an oracle.

And sets Thersites, a
slave whose gall coins

slanders like a mint,

to match us in comparisons with dirt,

to weaken and discredit our exposure,

how rank soever rounded in with danger.

They tax our policy and
call it cowardice, they

count wisdom as no member of the war,

forestall prescience, and
esteem no act but that of hand.

The still and mental
parts that do contrive

how many hands shall strike, when fitness

calls them on, and know by

measure of their observant
toil the enemies' weight,

why, this hath not a finger's dignity.

They call this bed-work,
mappery, closet-war,

so that the ram that
batters down the wall,

for the great swing and
rudeness of his poise,

they place before his
hand that made the engine.

Or they that with the
fineness of their souls

by reason

guide his execution.

Let this be granted,

and Achilles' horse
makes many Thetis' sons.

[heralding trumpets]

What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.

It's from Troy.

Is this great Agamemnon's
tent, I pray you?

Even this.

May one, that is a herald and a prince,

do a fair message to his kingly eye?

With surety stronger than Achilles' arm

'fore all the Greekish
heads, which with one voice

call Agamemnon head and general.

Fair leave and large security.

How may a stranger to
those most imperial looks

know them from eyes of other mortals?

How.

Aye,

I ask that I might waken reverence,

and bid the cheek be ready with a blush,

modest as morning when she coldly eyes

The youthful Phoebus.

Which is that god in office guiding men?

Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

This Trojan scorns us,

or the men of Troy

are ceremonious courtiers.

Courtiers as free, as debonair

unarmed as bending angels,

that's their fame in peace.

But when they would seem
soldiers, they have galls,

good arms, strong
joints, true swords, and,

great Jove's accord
nothing so full of heart.

But peace Aeneas,

Peace Trojan, lay thy finger on thy lips.

The worthiness of praise
disdains his worth,

if that the praised himself
bring the praise forth.

But what the repining enemy commends,

that breath fame blows,

that praise,

sole pure transcends.

Sir, you of Troy, call
you yourself Aeneas?

Aye Greek, that is my name.

What's your affair I pray you?

Sir, pardon,

'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

He hears naught privately
that comes from Troy.

Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him.

I bring a trumpet to arouse his senses,

to set his senses on the attentive bent,

and then to speak.

Speak frankly as the wind,

it is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour,

that thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,

he tells thee so himself.

Trumpet, speak loud,

send thy brass voice through
all these lazy tents,

and every Greek of mettle, let him know,

what Troy means fairly
shall be spoke aloud.

[loud trumpeting]

We have great Agamemnon,

here in Troy

a prince called Hector,

Priam is his father,

who in this dull and long-continued truce

is rusty grown.

He bade me take a trumpet,
and to this purpose speak.

Kings, princes, lords,

If there be one among
the fairest of Greece

that holds his honor higher than his ease,

that seeks his praise more
than he fears his peril,

that knows his valor,
and knows not his fear,

that loves his mistress
more than in confession

with truant vows to her own lips he loves,

and dare avow her beauty and her worth

in other arms than hers,

to him this challenge.

Hector,

in view of Trojans and of Greeks,

shall make it good, or
do his best to do it,

he hath a lady,

wiser,

fairer,

truer,

than ever Greek did compass in his arms.

And will tomorrow with his trumpet call,

midway between your
tents and walls of Troy,

to rouse a Grecian that is true in love.

If any come,

Hector shall honor him,

If none,

he'll say in Troy when he retires,

that Grecian dames are sunburnt

and not worth the splinter of a lance.

Even so much.

This shall be told our lovers Lord Aeneas,

if none of them have soul of such a kind,

we left them all at home.

But we are soldiers,

and may that soldier
a mere recreant prove,

that means not, hath
not, or is not in love.

If then one is, or hath, or means to be,

that one meets Hector.

If none else, I am he.

Tell him of Nestor,

one that was a man when
Hector's grandsire sucked.

he is old now but if there be not

in our Grecian mole one noble man that

hath one spark of fire,

to answer for his love,

tell him from me.

I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver

and in my vantbrace put
this withered brawn,

and meeting him will tell him that my lady

was fairer than his grandam and as chaste

as may be in the world.

His youth in flood,

I'll prove this truth

with my three drops of blood.

Oof,

now heaven forfend such scarcity of youth!

Amen.

Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand,

to our pavilion shall I lead you first.

Achilles shall have word of this intent,

so shall each lord of
Greece, from tent to tent.

Yourself shall feast
with us before you go,

and find the welcome of a noble foe.

Nestor.

What says Ulysses?

I have a young conception in my brain,

be you my time to bring it to some shape.

What is't?

This 'tis,

blunt wedges rive hard knots.

Ah.

The seeded pride that hath
to this maturity blown up

in rank Achilles

must or now be cropped,

or shedding breed a nursery of like evils,

to

overbulk us all.

Well, and how?

This challenge that the
gallant Hector sends,

however it is spread in general name,

it relates in purpose

only to Achilles.

True, the purpose is
perspicuous even as substance

whose grossness little characters sum up.

And, in the publication
make no strain, but that

Achilles, were his brain as
barren as banks of Libya,

though Apollo knows 'tis dry enough,

will with great speed of judgment,

aye, with celerity, find Hector's purpose

pointing on him.

Wake him to the answer,

think you?

Aye, 'tis most meet,

whom may you else oppose,

that can from Hector
bring those honors off,

if not Achilles?

Though't be a sportful combat,

yet in the trial much opinion dwells.

For here the Trojans
taste our dearest repute

with their finest palate.

Yes

and trust me Ulysses,

our imputation shall be oddly poised

in this vile action.

For the success although particular,

shall give a scantling

of good or bad unto the general.

And in such indexes,

although small pricks

to their subsequent volumes, there is seen

the baby figure of the giant mass

of things to come at large.

It is supposed

he that meets Hector

issues from our choice, and choice,

being mutual act of all our souls,

makes merit her election, and doth boil,

as 'twere from forth
us all, a man distilled

out of our virtues.

Which miscarrying what
heart receives from hence

the conquering part to steel a
strong opinion to themselves?

Which entertained,

limbs are his instruments,

In no less working than
are swords and bows

directive by the limbs.

Give pardon to my speech.

Therefore 'tis meet
Achilles meet not Hector.

Let us, like merchants,
show our foulest wares,

and think, perchance, they'll sell.

If not the luster of
the better yet to show,

shall show the better,

by showing the worst first.

Do not consent that ever
Hector and Achilles meet,

for both

our honor and our shame in this

are dogged with two strange followers.

I see them not with my
old eyes, what are they?

What glory our Achilles shares from Hector

were he not proud,

we would all were with him.

But he already is too insolent.

we were better parch in Afric sun

than in the pride and
salt scorn of his eye.

Should he 'scape Hector fair,

no, no,

make a lottery,

and, by device,

let blockish Ajax draw the
sort to fight with Hector.

Give him allowance for the better man,

for that will physic the great Myrmidon

who broils in loud applause,

make him fall his crest

that prouder than blue Iris bends.

If the

dull brainless Ajax come safe off,

we'll dress him up in voices.

If he fail,

yet go we under our opinion still

that we have better men.

But, hit or miss,

our project's life this
shape of sense assumes.

Ajax employed

plucks down Achilles' plumes.

Now Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice,

and I will give a taste
thereof forthwith to Agamemnon.

Go we to him straight.

Two curs shall tame each other,

pride alone must tarre the mastiffs on,

as 'twere their bone.

Agamemnon, how if he had boils,

full, all over generally.

Thersites.

And those boils did run.

Say so,

didn't the general run then?

Were not that a botchy core.

Dog.

Then would come some matter
from him, I see none now.

Thou bitch-wolf's son,
canst thou not hear?

Feel, then.

Ow, The plague of Greece upon thee,

thou mongrel beef witted lord.

Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak.

I will beat thee into handsomeness.

Oh I shall sooner rail
thee into wit and holiness,

but I think thy horse
will sooner con an oration

than thou learn a prayer without book.

Thou canst strike canst thou?

A red murrain o' thy jade's tricks.

Toadstool,

learn

me

the proclamation.

Dost thou think I have no
sense, thou strikes me thus?

The proclamation.

Thou art proclaimed a fool I think.

Do not, porpentine,

do not,

my fingers itch.

I would thou didst itch from head to foot

and I had the scratching of thee.

I would make thee the
loathsomest scab in Greece.

I say, the proclamation.

Thou grumblest and railest
every hour on Achilles,

and thou art as full of
envy at his greatness as

Cerberus is at Proserpine's beauty.

Mistress Thersites.

Thou should strike him.

He would pun thee into

-shivers with his fist, as a
-cob loaf

sailor breaks a biscuit.

You whoreson cur.

Do, do.

Thou stool for a witch!

Aye, do, do,

thou sodden-witted lord.

Thou hast no more brain
than I have in mine elbows.

Thou art here but to thrash Trojans,

and thou art bought
and sold among those of

any wit, like a barbarian slave.

Thou thing of no bowels, thou.

You dog.

[scream]

Oh you scurvy lord.

You cur.

[Achilles] How now, Ajax
wherefore do you thus?

How now, Thersites,

what's the matter, man?

You see him there, do you?

Aye, what's the matter?

Nay, look upon him.

So I do, what's the matter?

Nay, but regard him well.

Well, why so I do.

But yet you look not well upon him,

for whosoever you take
him to be, he is Ajax.

Oh I know that, fool.

Aye, but that fool knows not himself.

Therefore I beat thee.

Oh lo,

what modicums of wit he utters.

His evasions have ears thus long.

I have bobbed his brain more
than he has beat my bones,

This lord Ajax, who wears
his wit in his belly

and his guts in his head,

I'll tell you what I say of him.

What?

I say, this Ajax.

-Nay, good Ajax.
-Has not so much wit.

As will stop the eye of Helen's needle,

or whom he comes to fight.

Oh thou damned cur! I shall...

Will thou set

thy wit to a fools?

No, I warrant you for
a fools will shame it.

Good words, Thersites.

What's the quarrel?

I bade the vile owl go
learn me the tenor of the

proclamation, and he rails upon me.

I serve thee not.

Well, go to, go to.

I serve here voluntary.

Your last service was
sufferance 'twas not voluntary,

no man is beaten voluntary.

Ajax was here the voluntary,

and you as under an impress.

E'en so, a great deal of
your wit, too, lies in your

sinews, or else there be liars.

Hector shall have a
great catch, if he knock

out either of your brains,

it were as good crack as a
fusty nut with no kernel.

What, with me too Thersites?

Ulysses and old Nestor,
whose wit was moldy

ere your grandsires had
nails on their toes,

yoke you like draught oxen and make you

plough up the wars.

What, what.

Yes, good sooth.

I shall cut out your tongue.

'Tis no matter. I shall
speak as much as thou

afterwards.

No more words, Thersites, peace.

I will hold my peace

when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I?

There's for you, Patroclus.

I will see you hanged,

like clotpoles,

ere I come any more to your tents.

I will keep where there is wit stirring

and leave the faction

of fools.

[laughter]

Good riddance.

Marry

this, sir, is proclaimed

through all our host,

that Hector,

by the fifth hour of the sun,

will with a trumpet

call some knight to arms
that hath a stomach,

and such a one that dare maintain.

Oh I know not what 'tis trash, farewell.

Farewell. Who shall answer him?

I know not 'tis put to lottery,

otherwise

he knew his man.

Hah, meaning you.

I will go learn more of it.

[whispering]

[indistinct muttering]

After so

many hours,

lives,

speeches spent,

thus once again

says Nestor from the Greeks,

deliver Helen,

and all damage else as honor,

loss of time, travail, expense,

wounds, friends,

and what else

dear that is consumed

in hot digestion of this

cormorant war,

shall be struck off.

Hector,

what say you to it?

Though no man lesser
fears the Greeks than I

as far as toucheth my particular.

Yet, dread Priam,

there is no lady of more softer bowels

more spongy to suck in the sense of fear,

more ready to cry out,

who knows what follows than Hector is.

The wound of peace is surety,

surety secure,

but modest doubt is called

the beacon of the wise,

the tent that searches to
the bottom of the worst.

Let Helen go.

Since the first sword was
drawn about this question,

every tithe soul, 'mongst
many thousand dimes,

hath been as dear as Helen,

I mean of ours.

If we have lost so many tenths of ours,

to keep a thing not ours nor worth to us,

had it our name, the value of one ten,

what merit's in that reason which denies

the yielding of her up?

Fie, fie, my brother.

Weigh you the worth and honor of a king

so great as our dread fathers in a scale

of common ounces?

Will you with counters sum the

past proportion of his infinite?

And buckle in a scale most
fathomless with spans and inches

so diminutive as fears and reasons?

If we talk of reasons,

shut against the sleep.

Manhood and honor should have hare-hearts,

would they but fat their thoughts

with this crammed reason.

Reason and respect make livers pale

and lustihood deject.

Brother, she is not
worth what she doth cost

the keeping.

What's aught, but as 'tis valued?

But value dwells not in particular will,

It holds his estimate and dignity

As well wherein 'tis precious of itself

as in the prizer.

'Tis mad idolatry to make the service

greater than the god.

And the will dotes

that is attributive to what
infectiously itself affects,

without some image of the affected merit.

I take

today

a wife,

and my election is led on

in the conduct of my will,

my will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,

two traded pilots 'twixt
the dangerous shores

of will and judgment.

How may I avoid,

although my will distaste what it elected,

the wife I chose?

There can be no evasion.

To blench from this and
to stand firm by honor,

we turn not back the
silks upon the merchant,

when we have soiled them,

nor the remainder viands
we do not throw in

unrespective sieve
because we now are full.

It was thought meet

Paris should do some
vengeance on the Greeks.

Your breath with full
consent bellied his sail,

the seas and winds, old wranglers,

took a truce and did him service.

He touched the ports
desired and for an old aunt

whom the Greeks held captive
he brought a Grecian queen,

whose youth and freshness
wrinkles Apollo's,

and makes stale the morning.

Why keep we her?

The Grecians keep our aunt.

Is she worth keeping?

Why, she is a pearl,

whose price hath launched
above a thousand ships

and turned crowned kings to merchants.

If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went

as you must needs,

for you all cried "Go, go."

If you'll confess he
brought home worthy prize

as you must needs, for you
all clapped your hands,

and cried

"Inestimable."

Why do you now the issue of
your proper wisdoms rate,

and do a deed that never fortune did,

beggar the estimation which you prized

richer than sea and land?

Oh, theft most base that we have stolen

what we do fear to keep.

Cry, Trojans, cry,

cry, Trojans

cry, Trojans, cry.

lend me ten thousand eyes,

and I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Peace, sister, peace.

Virgins and boys,
mid-age and wrinkled eld,

soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,

add to my clamors,

let us pay betimes

a moiety of that mass of moan to come.

Cry, Trojans, cry.

Practice your eyes with tears,

Cry.

Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand

our firebrand brother Paris burns us all.

Cry, Trojans, cry,

a Helen and a woe,

cry, cry.

Troy burns,

or else let Helen go.

Now youthful Troilus,

do not these high strains
Of divination in our

sister work some touches of remorse?

Or is your blood so madly hot that no

discourse of reason,

nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,

can qualify the same?

Why,

brother Hector we may not think the

justness of each act such

and no other

than event doth form it,

nor once deject the courage of our minds,

because Cassandra's mad.

Her brain-sick raptures
cannot distaste the

goodness of a quarrel
which hath our several

honors all engaged to make it gracious.

For my private part I am no more touched

than all Priam's sons.

And Jove forbid there
should be done amongst us

such things as might
offend the weakest spleened

to fight for and maintain.

Else might the world convince of levity

as well my undertakings as your counsels.

I attest the gods,

your full consent

gave wings to my propension

and cut off all fears
attending on so dire a project.

For what, alas, can these

my single arms?

What Propugnation is in one man's valor,

to stand the push and enmity of those

this quarrel would excite?

Yet, I protest,

were I alone

to pass the difficulties

and had as ample power as I have will,

Paris should ne'er
retract what he hath done,

nor faint in the pursuit.

Paris,

you speak like one besotted

on your own sweet delights.

You have the honey still,

but these the gall.

So to be valiant

is no praise at all.

Sir,

I propose not merely to myself

the pleasures such a
beauty brings with it,

but I would have the soil of her fair rape

wiped off, in honorable keeping her.

What treason were it
to the ransacked queen,

disgrace to your great
worths and shame to me,

now to deliver her possession up on terms

of base compulsion.

Can it be that so
degenerate a strain as this

should once set footing
in your generous bosoms?

There's not the meanest
spirit on our party

without a heart to dare or sword to draw,

when Helen is defended.

Nor none so noble

whose life were ill
bestowed or death unfamed

where Helen is the subject,

then I say well may we fight for her

whom we know well,

the world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Paris and Troilus, you
have both said well,

and on the cause and question now in hand

have glozed, but superficially, not much

unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought

unfit to hear moral philosophy.

The reasons you allege do more conduce

to the hot passion of distempered blood

than to make up a free determination
'twixt right and wrong,

for pleasure

and revenge,

have ears more deaf
than adders to the voice

of any true decision.

Nature craves

all dues

be rendered to their owners,

now,

what nearer debt in all humanity

than wife is to the husband?

If this law of nature be
corrupted through affection,

and that great minds,
of partial indulgence

to their benumbed wills, resist the same,

there is a law in each well ordered nation

to curb those raging appetites which are

most disobedient and refractory.

If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,

as it is known she is,

these moral laws of nature and of nations

speak aloud to have her back returned.

Thus to persist in doing wrong

extenuates not wrong but
makes it much more heavy.

Hector's opinion is this

in way of truth,

yet ne'ertheless

my spritely brethren,

I propend to you in resolution

to keep Helen still.

[groans]

For 'tis a cause that
hath no mean dependence

upon our joint and several dignities.

Why, there you touched
the life of our design.

Were it not glory that we more affected

than the performance
of our heaving spleens,

I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood

spent more in her defense.

Worthy Hector,

she is a theme of honor and renown,

a spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,

whose present courage
may beat down our foes,

and fame in time to come canonize us.

I presume brave Hector would not lose

so rich advantage of a promised glory

as smiles upon the forehead of this action

for the wide world's revenue.

I am yours, you valiant
offspring of brave Priamus.

I have a roisting challenge sent amongst

the dull and factious nobles of the Greeks

will strike amazement
to their drowsy spirits.

I was advertised their
great general slept,

whilst emulation in the army crept.

This, I presume, will wake him.

How now, Thersites.

What

lost in the labyrinth of thy fury.

Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus?

He beats me, and I rail at him,

oh worthy satisfaction,

would it were otherwise,
that I could beat him,

whilst he railed at me.

'Sfoot,

I'll learn to conjure and raise devils,

but I'll see some issue of
my spiteful execrations.

Then there's Achilles,

oh a rare enginer.

If Troy be not taken till these two

undermine it, the walls
will stand till they fall of

themselves.

O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,

forget that thou art
Jove, the king of gods and

Mercury, lose all the
serpentine craft of thy

caduceus,

if ye take not that little, little less

than little wit from them that they have.

Which short armed ignorance
itself knows is so

abundant scarce,

it will not in circumvention deliver a fly

from a spider, without
drawing their massy irons and

cutting the web.

After this, the vengeance
on the whole camp,

or rather the neapolitan bone-ache,

for that methinks, is the curse depending

on those that war for a placket.

I've said me prayers

and devil envy,

Amen.

What ho my Lord Achilles.

[Patroclus] Who's there? Ah Thersites,

Good Thersites, come in and rail.

If I could have remembered
a gilt counterfeit,

thou wouldst not have slipped
out of my contemplation.

but it's no matter,

thyself upon thyself.

The common curse of mankind,

folly and ignorance be
thine in great revenue.

Let thy blood be thy
direction till thy death,

amen, Where's Achilles?

What, art thou devout?

Wast thou in prayer?

Aye the heavens hear me.

Oh Amen.

[Achilles] Who's there?

Thersites my lord.

[Achilles] Oh where,
where, where art thou come?

What my cheese,

my digestion,

why hast thou not served thyself in to

my table for so many meals?

Come, what's Agamemnon?

Thy commander, Achilles.
then tell me Patroclus,

what's Achilles?

Thy lord Thersites, then
tell me I pray thee,

what is Thersites?

Thy knower Patroclus,
then tell me Patroclus,

what art thou?

Well thou must tell that knowest.

Oh tell, tell.

I'll decline the whole question.

Agamemnon commands Achilles,

Achilles is my lord,

I am Patroclus' knower,

and Patroclus is a fool.

You rascal.

Oh peace, fool, I'm not done.

He's a privileged man.

Proceed Thersites.

Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool,

Thersites is a fool, and,

as aforesaid Patroclus is a fool.

Derive this come.

Agamemnon is a fool to
offer to command Achilles,

Achilles is a fool to be
commanded of Agamemnon,

Thersites is a fool to
serve such a fool, and

Patroclus is a fool positive.

Why am I a fool?

Make that demand to the creator.

It suffices me thou art.

Look you, who comes here?

Patroclus, I'll speak to nobody.

Come in with me Thersites.

Here is such patchery, such juggling

and such knavery.

All the argument is a whore and a cuckold,

a good quarrel to draw emulous factions

and bleed to death upon.

Now, war and lechery confound all.

Where is Achilles?

Within his tent, but ill disposed my lord.

Let it be known to him that we are here.

He shent our messengers and we lay by

our appertainments visiting of him.

Let him be told so,
lest perchance he think

we dare not move the
question of our place,

or know not what we are.

I shall say so to him.

We saw him at the opening of his tent,

he's not sick.

Oh yes, lion-sick,

sick of proud heart,

you may call it melancholy
if you'll favor the man,

but, by my head 'tis pride.

Why, why? let him show us the cause.

A word, my lord.

What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.

Who, Thersites?

He.

Then will Ajax lack matter,
if he's lost his argument.

No, you see,

he is his argument that has his argument.

Eh?

Achilles.

Ah, all the better,

their fraction is more our
wish than their faction,

but it was a strong composure a fool

could disunite.

The amity that wisdom
knits not, folly may easily

untie.

Ah here comes Patroclus.

No Achilles with him.

The elephant hath joints,
but none for courtesy,

his legs are legs for
necessity, not for flexure.

[Patroclus] Achilles bids
me say he is much sorry,

If any thing more than
your sport and pleasure

did move your greatness and this

noble state to call upon him,

he hopes it is no other
but for your health

and digestion sake,

an after dinner's breath.

Hear you Patroclus, we
are too well acquainted

with these answers.

But his evasion, winged
thus swift with scorn,

cannot out fly our apprehensions.

Much attribute he hath,

and much the reason why
we ascribe it to him,

yet all his virtues not virtuously on

his own part beheld,

do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss.

Yea, like

fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,

are like to rot untasted.

Go and tell him we come to speak with him,

and you shall not sin if you do say

we think him over proud and under honest,

in self assumption greater
than in the note of judgment,

and worthier than himself.

Here tend the savage
strangeness he puts on,

disguise the holy
strength of their command,

and underwrite in an observing kind

his humorous predominance,

yea, watch his pettish lunes,

his ebbs and flows, as if the passage and

whole carriage of this
action rode on his tide.

Go tell him this,

and add that if he
overhold his price so much,

We'll none of him, but let him,

like an engine not portable,

lie under this report.

Bring action hither,
this cannot go to war,

a stirring dwarf we do allowance give

before a sleeping giant.

Tell him so.

I shall,

and bring his answer presently.

In second voice we'll not be satisfied,

we come to speak with him.

Ulysses, enter you.

What is he more than another?

No more than what he thinks he is.

Is he so much? Do you not think he

thinks himself a better man than I am?

No question.

Will you subscribe his
thought, and say he is?

No, noble Ajax, you are
as strong, as valiant,

as wise,

no less noble, much more gentle,

and altogether more tractable.

Why should a man be proud?

How doth pride grow?

I know not what pride is.

Your mind is the fairer, Ajax,

and your virtues the clearer.

He that is proud eats up himself,

pride is his own glass, his
own trumpet, his own chronicle,

and whatever praises
itself but in the deed,

devours the deed in the praise.

I do hate a proud man,

as I do hate the engendering of toads.

Yet he loves himself, is't not strange?

Achilles will not to the field tomorrow.

What's his excuse?

He doth rely on none, but carries on

the stream of his dispose
without observance

or respect of any,

in will peculiar and in self-admission.

Why will he not upon our fair request

untent his person and
share the air with us?

Things small as nothing
for request's sake only,

he makes important.

Possessed he is with greatness,

and speaks not to himself but with a pride

that quarrels at self-breath,

imagined worth

holds in his blood such
swoln and hot discourse,

that 'twixt his mental
and his active parts

kingdomed Achilles in commotion rages

and batters down himself.

What should I say?

He is so plaguey proud
that the death-tokens of it

cry no recovery.

Let Ajax go to him.

dear lord, go you and
greet him in his tent,

'tis said he holds you
well, and will be led,

at your request a little from himself.

Oh Agamemnon,

let it not be so.

We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes

when they go from Achilles.

Shall the proud lord
that bastes his arrogance

in his own seam and never
suffers matter of the world

enter his thoughts,
save such as do revolve.

And ruminate himself,
shall he be worshiped

Of that we hold an idol more than he?

No, this thrice worthy

and right valiant lord,

shall not so stale his palm,

nobly acquired,

nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,

as amply titled as Achilles is.

By going to Achilles, that were

to enlard his fat already pride,

and add more coals to canker when he burns

with entertaining great Hyperion.

This lord go to him, Jupiter forbid,

and say in thunder

"Achilles go to him."

Oh, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.

And how his silence
drinks up this applause.

If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll

pash him o'er the face.

Oh, no, you shall not go.

An a' be proud with me,
I'll pheeze his pride,

Let me go to him.

Not for the worth that
hangs upon our quarrel.

Paltry, insolent fellow.

How he describes himself.

[Ajax] Can he not be sociable?

The raven chides blackness.

I'll let his humors blood.

He will be the physician
that should be the patient.

An all men were o' my mind.

Wit would be out of fashion.

I should not bear it so,
I should eats words first,

shall pride carry it.

An 'twould, you'ld carry half.

I would have ten shares.

I will knead him, I'll make him supple.

He's not yet through warm,
force him with praises,

pour in, pour in his ambition is dry.

My lord, you feed too
much on this dislike.

Our noble general, do not do so.

You must prepare to
fight without Achilles.

Why, 'tis this naming
of him doth him harm,

now here is a lord,

but 'tis before his face

I will be silent.

Wherefore should you so?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

A whoreson dog, that
shall palter thus with is,

would he were a Trojan!

What a vice were it in Ajax now.

If he were proud.

Or covetous of praise.

Aye, or surly borne.

Or strange, or self-affected.

Thank the heavens, lord,

thou art of sweet composure.

Praise him that got thee,

she that gave thee suck.

Famed be thy tutor,
and thy parts of nature

thrice famed, beyond

beyond all erudition.

But he that disciplined
thine arms to fight,

let Mars divide eternity in twain,

and give thee half,

and for thy vigour,

bull bearing Milo his addition yield

to sinewy Ajax.

I will not praise thy wisdom,

which, like a bourn,

a pale, a shore, confines

thy spacious and dilated parts.

Here's Nestor,

instructed by the antiquary times,

he must,

he is,

he cannot but be wise.

Put pardon, father Nestor,

were your days

as green as Ajax' and
your brain so tempered,

you should not have the eminence of him,

but

be as Ajax.

Shall I call you father?

Aye, my good son.

Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.

There's no tarrying
here, the hart Achilles

keeps thicket.

Please it our great
general to call together

all his state of war,

fresh kings are come to Troy.

Tomorrow we must with all
our main of power stand fast,

and here's a lord,

come knights from east to west,

and cull their flower,

Ajax shall cope the best.

Go we to council.

Let Achilles sleep.

Light boats sail swift,

though greater hulks draw deep.

Amen.

[indistinct muttering]

Friend, you,

pray you a word,

do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

Aye, sir, when he goes before me.

You depend upon him, I mean?

Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

You depend upon a notable gentleman,

I needs must praise him.

The lord be praised.

You know me, do you not?

Faith, sir, superficially.

Friend, know me better,

I am the Lord Pandarus.

I hope I shall know your honor better.

I do desire it.

You are

in the state of grace.

Grace, not so, friend,

honor and lordship are my titles.

[harps]

What music is this?

I do but partly know sir,

it is music

in parts.

Know you the musicians?

Wholly, sir.

Who play they to?

To the hearers sir.

At whose pleasure,

friend.

At mine sir,

and theirs that love music.

Command, I mean friend.

Who shall I command sir?

Friend we understand not one another.

I am too courtly and thou art too cunning.

At whose request do these men play?

That's to it indeed sir,

marry sir,

at the request of Paris my lord,

who is there in person,

with him, the mortal Venus,

the heart-blood of beauty,

love's invisible soul.

Who, my cousin Cressida?

No sir, Helen.

Could you not find out
that by her attributes?

It would seem fellow,
thou hast not seen the

Lady Cressida.

I come to speak with Paris
from the Prince Troilus.

I will make a complemental

assault upon him,

for my business seethes.

Sodden business, there's
a stewed phrase indeed.

Fair be to you, fair lord,

and to all this fair company.

Fair desires, in all fair measures,

fairly guide them.

Especially to you, fair queen,

fair thought be your fair pillow.

Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen.

Fair prince here is good broken music.

You broke it, cousin.

and, by my life, you
shall make it whole again.

You shall piece it out with
a piece of your performance.

He is full of harmony.

Truly, lady, no.

Oh sir.

Rude in sooth, in good sooth, very rude.

Well said, my lord.

I have business to my lord, dear queen.

My lord will you vouchsafe me a word?

Nay, this shall not hedge
us out, we'll hear you

sing, certainly.

Well, sweet queen. you
are pleasant with me.

But marry thus, my lord, my
dear lord and most esteemed

friend, your brother Troilus,

My Lord Pandarus,

-honey sweet lord,
-Go to, sweet queen, go to.

commends himself most
affectionately to you.

You shall not bob us out of
our melody, if you do our

-melancholy upon your head.
-Sweet queen, sweet queen

there's a sweet queen in faith.

And to make a sweet lady
sad is a sour offense.

Nay, that shall not serve your turn,

that shall it not in truth, la.

I care not for such words.

No, no. No.

And,

and my lord,

he desires you, that if the king

call for him at supper,
you will make his excuse.

My Lord Pandarus.

What says my sweet queen,
my very very sweet queen?

What exploit's in hand?
where sups he tonight?

Nay, but, my lord.

What says my sweet queen?

You must not know where he sups.

I'll lay my life with
my disposer Cressida.

No,

no,

no such matter,

you are wide, come no,

your disposer's sick.

Well, I'll make excuse.

Aye good my lord.

Now why should you say Cressida?

No, your poor disposer's sick.

I spy.

You spy,

what do you spy?

Come, give me an instrument.

Now, sweet queen.

Why, this is

kindly done.

My niece is horribly in
love with a thing you have.

She shall have it my lord,

if it be not my lord Paris.

Oh him, she'll none of him,

they two are twain.

My cousin will fall out with you.

Falling in, after falling
out, may make them three.

Come, come, I'll hear no more of this,

I'll sing you a song now.

Aye, prithee now,

by my troth, sweet lord,

thou hast a fine forehead.

Oh may, you may.

Let thy song be love.

Love.

This love will undo us all.

Aye, that it shall, in faith.

Love, love, nothing but love.

In good soth, it begins so.

♪ Love, love ♪

♪ Nothing but love ♪

♪ Still love ♪

♪ Still more ♪

♪ For Oh love's bow ♪

♪ Shoots buck and doe ♪

♪ The shaft confounds ♪

♪ Not that it wounds ♪

♪ But tickles still the sore ♪

♪ These lovers cry ♪

♪ Oh, oh, they die ♪

♪ Yet that which seemed ♪

♪ The wound to kill ♪

♪ Doth turn oh oh ♪

♪ to ha ha ha ♪

♪ And dying love ♪

♪ lives still ♪

♪ Oh oh a while ♪

♪ Then ha ha ha ♪

♪ Oh oh groans out ♪

♪ For ha ha ha he ♪

♪ Oh ho a while ♪

♪ Then ha ha ha ♪

♪ Oh ho groans out ♪

♪ For ha ha ha ha ♪

In love, i' faith,

to the tip of the nose.

He eats nothing but doves, love,

and that breeds hot blood,

and hot blood begets hot thoughts,

and hot thoughts beget hot deeds,

and hot deeds is love.

Is this the generation of love?

Hot blood,

hot thoughts,

and hot deeds?

Why they are vipers,

is love a generation of vipers?

Sweet lord, who's afield today?

Hector,

Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor,

and all the gallantry of Troy.

I would fain have armed today,

but my Nell would not have it so.

How chance my brother Troilus went not?

He hangs the lip at something,

you know all Lord Pandarus.

Not I, honey sweet queen.

I long to hear

how they sped today.

You'll remember your brother's excuse?

To a hair.

Farewell,

sweet queen.

Commend me to your niece.

I will, sweet queen.

♪ Love, love, nothing but love ♪

[trumpets sound retreat]

They're come from the field,

we must to Priam's hall
To greet the warriors.

Sweet Helen,

I must woo you to help unarm our Hector,

his stubborn buckles with these

your white enchanting fingers touched,

shall more obey than to the edge of steel

or force of Greekish sinew.

You

shall do more than all the island kings,

disarm

great Hector.

'Twill make us proud to
be his servant, Paris.

Yea what he shall receive of us

in duty,

gives us more palm in beauty

than we have.

Yea, overshines ourself.

Sweet,

above thought

I love thee.

Have you seen my cousin?

No, Pandarus, I stalk about her door

like a strange soul
upon the Stygian banks,

staying for waftage, Oh be thou my Charon.

And give me swift
transportance to those fields

Where I may wallow in the lily beds

proposed for the deserver!
Oh gentle Pandar,

from Cupid's shoulder
pluck his painted wings

and fly with me to Cressid!

I'll bring her straight.

I am giddy,

expectation whirls me round.

The imaginary relish is so sweet

that it enchants my sense.

What will it be,

when that the watery palate tastes indeed

love's thrice repured nectar.

Death, I fear me,

swooning destruction,

or some joy too fine,

too subtle potent,

tuned too sharp in sweetness,

for the capacity of my ruder powers.

I fear it much,

and I do fear besides that I shall

lose distinction in my joys.

As doth a battle, when
they charge on heaps

the enemy flying.

She's making her ready,
she'll come straight.

You must be witty now.

She does so blush, and fetches her

wind so short as if she were

frayed with a sprite.

I'll fetch her.

Oh ho ho it is the prettiest villain,

she fetches her breath as
short as a new ta'en sparrow.

Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom.

My heart beats thicker
than a feverous pulse

and all my powers do their bestowing lose,

like vassalage at unawares encountering

the eye of

majesty.

Come, come,

what need you blush?

Shame's a baby.

Here she is now,

swear the oaths now to her

that you have sworn to me.

What, are you gone again?

You must be watched ere
you be made tame, must you?

Come your ways, come your ways,

an you draw backward we'll
put you in the fills.

Why do you not speak to her?

Come,

draw this curtain,

and let's see your picture.

Alas the day, how loath
you are to offend daylight,

an 'twere dark, you'd close sooner.

So, so,

rub on,

and kiss the mistress.

How now, a kiss in fee farm,

build there, carpenter

the air is sweet.

Nay, you shall fight your
hearts out ere I part you.

The falcon as the tercel,

for all the ducks in the river.

Go to, go to.

You have

bereft me of all words, lady.

Words pay no debts, give her deeds,

but she'll bereave you of the deeds too,

if she call your activity in question.

What billing again,

Come in, come in,

I'll go get a fire.

Will you walk in, my lord?

Oh Cressida, how often
have I wished me thus.

Wished, my lord, the gods grant.

Oh my lord.

What should they grant?

What makes this pretty abruption?

What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady

in the fountain of our love?

More dregs than water,
if my fears have eyes.

Fears make devils of cherubims,

they never see truly.

Blind fear,

that seeing reason leads
oft finds safer footing

than blind reason stumbling without fear,

to fear the worst oft cures the worse.

Oh let my lady apprehend no fear,

in all Cupid's pageant there
is presented no monster.

Nor nothing monstrous neither?

Nothing, but our
undertakings, when we vow to

weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks,

tame tigers,

thinking it harder for our mistress

to devise imposition enough

than for us to undergo
any difficulty imposed.

This is the monstrosity in love lady,

that the will is infinite

and the execution confined,

that the desire

is boundless

and the act a slave to limit.

They say all lovers swear more

performance than they are able,

and yet reserve an ability
that they never perform,

vowing more than the perfection of ten

and discharging less than
the tenth part of one.

They that have the voice of lions

and the act of hares,

are they not monsters?

Are there such?

Such are not we,

praise us as we are tasted,

allow us as we prove,

our head shall go bare
till merit crown it.

No perfection in reversion shall

have a praise in present,

we will not name desert before his birth,

and, being born, his
addition shall be humble.

Few words to fair faith

Troilus shall be such to Cressid

as what envy can say worst

shall be a mock for his truth,

and what truth can speak truest

not truer than Troilus.

Will you walk in, my lord?

What, blushing still? Have
you not done talking yet?

Well uncle, what folly I
commit, I dedicate to you.

Oh I thank you for it.

if my lord get a boy of you,

you'll give him me eh.

Be true to my lord,

if he flinch, chide me for it.

You know now your hostages,

your uncle's word and my firm faith.

Nay, I'll give my word for her too.

Our kindred though they are long

ere they are wooed,

they are constant being won,

they are burrs, I tell you,

they'll stick where they are thrown.

Boldness comes to me
now, and brings me heart.

Prince Troilus,

I have loved you

night and day for many weary months.

Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

Hard to seem won,

but I was won my lord,

with the first glance that ever.

[murmur]

Pardon me,

If I confess much you
will play the tyrant.

No.

I love you now.

But till now not so much
but I might master it

In faith, I lie,

my thoughts were like unbridled children,

grown too headstrong for their mother.

See,

we fools,

why have I blabbed?

Who'll be true to us when we
are so unsecret to ourselves?

But though I loved you
well, I wooed you not,

And yet, good faith,
I wished myself a man,

or that we women had men's privilege

of speaking first.

Sweet bid me hold my tongue,

for in this rapture I shall surely speak

the thing I shall repent.

See,

see, your silence,

cunning in dumbness,
from my weakness draws

my very soul of counsel.

Stop my mouth.

And shall, albeit sweet
music issues thence.

Pretty, i' faith.

My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me.

'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss.

I am ashamed.

Oh heavens, what have I done?

For this time will I
take my leave my lord.

Your leave, sweet Cressid.

Leave, an you take leave
till tomorrow morning.

Pray you content you.

What offends you lady?

Sir mine own company.

You cannot shun yourself.

Let me go and try.

I have a kind of self resides with you,

but an unkind self,
that itself will leave,

to be another's fool.

I would be gone.

Where is my wit?

I know not what I speak.

Well know they what they
speak, that speak so wisely.

Perchance my lord I show
more craft than love,

and fell so roundly to a large confession,

to angle for your thoughts.

But you are wise,

or else you love not,

for to be wise and to
love exceeds man's might,

that dwells with gods above.

Oh.

That I thought it could be

in a woman,

as if it can, I will presume in you,

to feed for aye her lamp

and flames of love.

To keep her

constancy in plight and youth,

outliving beauty's outward, with a mind

that doth renew swifter than blood decays.

Or that persuasion could
but thus convince me,

that my integrity and truth to you might

be affronted with the match and weight

of such a winnowed purity in love.

How were I then uplifted.

But, alas I am as true
as truth's simplicity

and simpler than the infancy of truth.

In that I'll war with you.

Oh virtuous fight,

when right with right wars
who shall be most right.

True swains in love

shall in the world to come approve

their truth by Troilus,

when their rhymes full of protest,

of oath and big compare,

want similes,

truth tired with iteration,

as true as steel,

as plantage to the moon,

as sun to day,

as turtle to her mate,

as iron to adamant,

as earth to the center.

Yet,

after all comparisons of truth,

as truth's authentic author to be cited,

as true as Troilus,

shall crown up the verse,

and sanctify the numbers.

Prophet may you be.

If I be false,

or swerve a hair from truth,

when time is old and hath forgot itself,

when waterdrops have
worn the stones of Troy,

and blind oblivion swallowed cities up,

and mighty states characterless are grated

to dusty nothing,

yet let memory,

from false to false,

among false maids in love,

upbraid my falsehood when they have said,

as false as air,

as water,

wind or sandy earth,

as fox to lamb,

or wolf to heifer's calf,

pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son,

yea, let them say,

to stick the heart of falsehood,

as false as Cressid.

Go to, go to,

a bargain made.

Seal it, seal it.

Oh,

I'll be the witness.

Here I hold your hand, here my cousin's.

If ever you prove false to one another,

since I have taken such

pains to bring you together,

let all pitiful goers-between be

called to the world's end after my name,

call them all Pandars,

let all constant men be Troiluses,

all false women Cressids,

and all

brokers between

Pandars.

Say, amen.

Amen.

Amen.

Amen.

Whereupon I will show you a chamber

and a bed,

which bed since it shall not speak of

your pretty encounters,

press it to death.

Away.

And Cupid grant

all tongue-tied maidens here

bed,

chamber,

Pandar

to provide

this

gear.

Now, princes,

for the service I have done,

the advantage of the time
prompts me aloud to call for

recompense.

Appear it to your mind

that, through the sight
I bear of things to come,

I have

abandoned Troy,

left my possession,

incurred a traitor's name,

exposed myself from certain
and possessed conveniences,

to doubtful fortunes.

Sequestering from me all that time,

acquaintance,

custom and condition

made tame

and most familiar to my nature.

And here,

to do you service,

am become as new into the world,

strange,

unacquainted.

I do beseech you, as in way of taste,

to give me now a little

benefit,

out of those many registered in promise,

which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

What wouldst thou of us,

Trojan? Make demand.

You have a Trojan prisoner,

called Antenor,

yesterday took,

Troy holds him very dear.

Oft have you,

often have you thanks therefore

desired my Cressid

in right great exchange,

whom Troy hath still denied.

But this Antenor,

I know, is such a wrest in their affairs

that their negotiations all must slack,

wanting his manage.

And they will almost

give us a prince of blood,

a son of Priam,

in change of him.

Let him be sent,

great princes,

and he shall buy my daughter,

and her presence shall

quite strike off

all service I have done,

in most accepted pain.

Let Diomedes bear him,

and bring us Cressid hither,

Calchas shall have what he requests of us.

Good Diomed, furnish you
fairly for this interchange,

withal bring word if Hector

will tomorrow be answered
in his challenge.

Ajax is ready.

This shall I undertake,

and 'tis a burden which
I am proud to bear.

Achilles

stands in the entrance to his tent.

Please it our great general

to pass strangely by him,

as if he were forgot,

and princes all,

lay negligent and loose regard upon him,

I will come last.

'Tis like he'll question
me why such unplausive

eyes are bent, why turned on him.

If so, I have derision medicinable,

to use between your
strangeness and his pride,

which his own will shall
have desire to drink.

It uh,

it may do good,

pride hath no other glass
to show itself but pride,

for supple knees feed arrogance

and are the proud man's fees.

We'll execute your purpose,

and put on a form of strangeness

as we pass along.

So do each lord, and either greet him not,

or else disdainfully,
which shall shake him more

than if not looked on.

I will lead the way.

Supple knees.

[laughs]

What comes the general to speak with me?

You know my mind, I'll
fight no more 'gainst Troy.

What says Achilles?
Would he aught with us?

Would you, my lord,
aught with the general?

No.

Nothing, my lord.

The better.

Good day, good day.

How do you? how do you?

What, does the cuckold scorn me?

How now, Patroclus.

Good morrow, Ajax.

Hmm

Good morrow.

Aye and good next day too.

What mean these fellows?
Know they not Achilles?

They pass by strangely,

they were used to bend

to send their smiles
before them to Achilles.

To come as humbly as they used to creep

to holy altars.

What, am I poor of late?

'Tis certain greatness, once
fallen out with fortune,

must fall out with men too.

What the declined is he shall as soon read

in the eyes of others

as feel in his own fall.

For men, like butterflies, show not their

mealy wings but to the summer.

And not a man, for being simply man,

hath any honor,

but honor for those honors

that are without him,

as place, riches and favor,

prizes of accident as oft as merit.

Which when they fall, as
being slippery standers,

the love that leaned on
them as slippery too,

doth one pluck down another and together

die in the fall.

But 'tis not so with me.

Fortune and I are friends.

I do enjoy at ample point
all that I did possess,

save these men's looks,

who do, methinks, find out in me something

not worth in me such rich beholding

as they have often given.

Here is Ulysses, I'll
interrupt his reading.

How now Ulysses.

Now, great Thetis' son.

What are you reading?

A strange fellow here,

writes me that man,

how dearly ever parted,

how much in having, or without or in,

cannot make boast to

have that which he hath,

nor feels not what he owes,

but by reflection.

As when his virtues shining upon others

heat them and they retort that heat again

to the first giver.

This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face

the bearer knows not,

but commends itself to others' eyes.

Nor doth the eye itself,

that most pure spirit of sense,

behold itself.

Not going from itself,

but eye to eye opposed,

salutes each other with each other's form.

For speculation turns not to itself,

till it hath traveled
and is mirrored there,

where it may see itself.

This is not strange at all.

I do not strain at the position,

it is familiar,

but at the author's drift,

who, of his circumstance,

expressly proves that no
man is the lord of anything,

though in and of him
there be much consisting,

till he communicate his parts to others.

Nor doth he of himself know them for aught

till he behold them

formed in the applause

where they're extended.

Who, like an arch,

reverberates the voice again,

or like a plate of steel fronting the sun,

receives and renders back
his figure and his heat.

I was much wrapt in this,

and apprehended here immediately,

the unknown Ajax.

Oh heavens, what a man is there.

A very horse, that has he knows not what.

Nature, what things there are

most abject in regard and dear in use.

What things again most dear in the esteem

and poor in worth.

Now shall we see tomorrow

an act that very chance
have throw upon him,

Ajax renowned.

Oh heavens, what some men do,

while some men leave to do.

How some men creep in
skittish fortune's hall,

while others play the idiots in her eyes.

How one man eats into another's pride,

while pride is fasting in his wantonness.

To see these Grecian lords, why,

even already they clap the

lubber Ajax on the shoulder,

as if his foot were on
brave Hector's breast,

and great Troy shrinking.

I do believe it, for they passed by me

as misers do by beggars,

neither gave me good word nor look.

What,

are my deeds forgot?

Time hath my lord, a wallet at his back,

wherein he puts alms for oblivion.

A great sized monster of ingratitudes.

Those scraps are good deeds past,

which are devoured as
fast as they are made,

forgot as soon as done.

Perseverance, dear my lord,

keeps honor bright.

To have done is to

hang quite out of
fashion, like a rusty mail

in monumental mockery.

Take the instant way,

for honor travels in a strait so narrow,

where one but goes abreast.

Keep then the path,

for emulation hath a thousand sons

that one by one pursue.

If you give way,

or hedge aside from the direct forthright,

like to an entered tide, they all rush by,

and leave you hindmost.

Or like a gallant horse

fallen in first rank,

lie there for pavement to the abject rear,

o'er run and trampled on.

Then what they do in present,

though less than yours in past,

must o'ertop yours.

For time is like

a fashionable host

that slightly shakes his

parting guest by the hand,

and with his arms outstretched,

as he would fly,

grasps in the comer.

The welcome ever smiles,

and farewell goes out sighing.

Oh let not virtue seek
remuneration for the thing it was,

For beauty,

wit,

high birth,

vigor of bone,

desert in service,

love, friendship,
charity, are subjects all

to envious and calumniating time.

One touch of nature makes
the whole world kin,

that all with one consent
praise new born gawds,

though they are made and
molded of things past,

And give to dust that is a little gilt.

More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.

The present eye praises
the present object.

Then marvel not, thou
great and complete man,

that all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,

since things in motion
sooner catch the eye

than what not stirs.

The cry went once on thee,

and still it might,

and yet it may again,

if thou wouldst not

entomb thyself alive

and case thy reputation in thy tent.

Whose glorious deeds, but
in these fields of late,

made emulous missions
to the gods themselves,

and drave

great Mars to faction.

Of this,

my privacy,

I have strong reasons.

But 'gainst your privacy

the reasons are more potent and heroical.

'Tis known, Achilles,

that you are in love

with one of Priam's daughters.

Ha! Known.

Is that a wonder?

The providence that's in a watchful state

knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold,

finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deep,

keeps place with thought
and almost like the gods,

do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

There is a mystery in the soul of state,

with whom relation durst never meddle,

that hath an operation more divine

than breath or pen can give expressure to.

All the commerce that
you have had with Troy

as perfectly is ours as yours, my lord.

And better would it fit Achilles much

to throw down

Hector than Polyxena.

But it must grieve young
Pyrrhus now at home,

when fame shall in our
islands sound her trump,

and all the Greekish
girls shall tripping sing,

great Hector's sister did Achilles win,

but our great Ajax bravely beat down him.

Farewell, my lord.

I as your lover speak,

the fool slides o'er the ice

that you should break.

To this effect, Achilles,
have I moved you.

A woman impudent and mannish grown

is not more loathed than an effeminate man

in time of action.

I stand condemned for this.

They think my little stomach to the war

and your great love for
me restrains you thus.

Sweet, rouse yourself,

and the weak wanton Cupid

shall from your neck
unloose his amorous fold,

and, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,

be shook to air.

Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Aye, and perhaps receive
much honor by him.

I see my reputation is at stake,

my fame is shrewdly gored.

Oh then beware,

those wounds heal ill, that
men do give themselves.

Omission to do what is necessary

seals a commission to a blank of danger.

And danger, like an ague, subtly taints

even then when we sit idly in the sun.

Go call Thersites hither,

sweet Patroclus.

I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him

to invite the Trojan
lords after the combat,

to see us here unarmed.

I have a woman's longing,

an appetite that I am sick withal.

To see great Hector in his weeds of peace,

to talk with him

and to behold his visage,

even to my full of view.

A labor saved.

A wonder.

[Achilles] What?

Ajax goes up and down the
field, asking for himself.

How so?

He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector,

and is so prophetically proud
of an heroical cudgeling

that he raves in saying nothing.

Stalks up and down like a peacock,

a stride and a stand.

The man's undone forever,
for if Hector break

not his neck in 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's grown a very land-fish,
language-less, a monster.

Thou must be my ambassador
to him, Thersites.

Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody,

he professes not answering,

speaking is for beggars.

He wears his tongue in his arms.

Oh I will put on his presence,

let Patroclus make demands to me,

you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

Do this Patroclus.

tell him I desire the valiant Ajax

to invite the most valorous Hector,

to come unarmed to my tent,

and to procure safe conduct of his person

of the magnanimous and most illustrious,

six or seven times honored,

Captain General of the
Grecian army, Agamemnon,

et cetera. Do this.

Um, Jove bless great Ajax.

Ah.

I come from the worthy Achilles,

who most humbly desires you
to invite Hector to his tent.

Oof.

And to procure safe-conduct
from Agamemnon.

Agamemnon.

Aye, my lord.

Oh.

What say you to it?

God be with you, with all me heart.

Your answer, sir.

If tomorrow be a fair day,

by 11 of the clock it will
go one way or the other,

howsoever, he shall pay
for me ere he has me.

Your answer, sir.

Fare you well, with all me heart.

Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

No, but he's out of tune thus.

What music will be in him when Hector has

knocked out his brains, I know not.

Come, thou must deliver
a letter to him straight.

Let me carry another to his horse,

for that's the more capable creature.

My mind is troubled,
like a fountain stirred,

and I myself see not the bottom of it.

Would the fountain of your mind

were clear again,

that I might water an ass at it.

I had rather be a tick in a sheep,

than such a valiant ignorance.

See ho, who is that there?

It is the Lord Aeneas.

Is the prince here in person?

If I had so good occasion to lie long

as you, prince Paris,

nothing but heavenly business would rob

my bed mate of my company.

That's my mind too,

good morrow, Lord Aeneas.

A valiant Greek Aeneas, take his hand,

witness the process of your speech,

wherein you told how Diomed,

a whole week by days,

did haunt you in the field.

Health to you valiant sir,

during all question of a gentle truce,

but when I meet you armed,

as black defiance as heart can think

or courage execute.

The one and other Diomed embraces.

Our bloods are now in
calm, and so long, health.

But when contention and occasion meet,

by Jove, I'll play the
hunter for thy life,

with all my force,

pursuit and policy.

And thou shalt hunt the lion,

that will fly with his face backward.

In humane gentleness, welcome to Troy!

Now, by Anchises' life,

welcome, indeed.

By Venus' hand I swear,

no man alive can love in such a sort

the thing he means to
kill more excellently.

Oh we sympathize.

Jove, let Aeneas live, if to my sword

his fate be not the glory,

a thousand complete courses of the sun.

But, in mine emulous honor, let him die,

with every joint a wound,

and that tomorrow.

We know each other well.

We do, and long to know each other worse.

This is the most
despiteful gentle greeting,

the noblest hateful love,

that e'er I heard of.

What business lord, so early?

I was sent for to the
king, but why, I know not.

His purpose meets you,

'twas to bring this
Greek to Calchas' house,

and there to render him
for the enfreed Antenor,

the fair Cressid.

Let's have your company,

or if you please,

haste there before us.

I constantly believe, or
rather, call my thought

a certain knowledge my
brother Troilus lodges

there tonight.

Rouse him and give him
note of our approach.

With the whole quality wherefore.

I fear we shall be much unwelcome.

That I assure you.

Troilus would rather Troy
were borne to Greece,

than Cressid borne from Troy.

Yes, well there is no help,

the bitter disposition of
the time will have it so.

On, lord, we'll follow you.

Good morrow

friend.

And tell me, noble Diomed,

faith, tell me true,

even in the soul of sound good fellowship,

who, in your thoughts,
deserves fair Helen best,

Myself or Menelaus?

Both alike.

He merits well to have
her that doth seek her,

not making any scruple of her soilure,

with such a hell of pain
and world of charge.

And you as well to keep
her, that defend her,

not palating the taste of her dishonor,

with such a costly loss
of wealth and friends.

He, like a puling cuckold,

would drink up the lees and dregs of

a flat tamed piece.

You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins

are pleased to breed out your inheritance.

Both merits poised,

each weighs nor less nor more.

But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

You are too bitter to your countrywoman.

She's bitter to her
country, hear me Paris,

for every false drop in her bawdy veins,

a Grecian's life hath sunk.

For every scruple of her
contaminated carrion weight,

a Trojan hath been slain.

Since she could speak, she hath not

given so many good words breath.

As for her Greeks and
Trojans suffered death.

Fair Diomed,

you do as chapmen do,

dispraise the thing
that you desire to buy,

but we in silence hold this virtue well,

we'll not commend what we intend to sell.

Here lies our way.

Dear,

trouble not yourself, the morn is cold.

Then, sweet my lord,

I'll call mine uncle down

he shall unbolt the gates.

Trouble him not,

to bed, to bed,

sleep kill those pretty eyes,

and give as soft attachment to thy senses

as infants' empty of all thought.

Good morrow then.

I prithee now to bed.

Are you a weary of me?

Oh Cressida,

but that the busy day waked by the lark,

hath roused the ribald crows,

and dreaming night will
hide our joys no longer,

I would not from thee.

Night hath been too brief.

Beshrew the witch,

with venomous wights she
stays as tediously as hell,

but flies the grasps of love with wings

more momentary swift than thought.

You will catch cold and curse me.

Prithee, tarry.

You men will never tarry.

Oh foolish Cressid,

I might have still held off,

and then you would have tarried.

Hark.

There's one up.

[Pandarus] What's all the doors open here?

It is your uncle.

A pestilence on him,
now will he be mocking,

I shall have such a life.

How now,

how now.

How go maidenheads?

Here, you maid!

Where's my cousin Cressid?

Go hang yourself,

you naughty mocking uncle.

You bring me to do, and
then you flout me too.

To do what? To do what?

Let her say what,

what have I brought you to do?

Come, come, beshrew your heart,

you'll ne'er be good, nor suffer others.

Alas, poor wretch,

ah, poor capocchia.

Hast not slept tonight?

Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep?

A bugbear take him.

Didn't I tell you, would he
were knocked in the head.

[wooden knocking]

Hark, who's that at door?

Good uncle, go and see.

My lord,

come you again into my chamber.

You smile and mock me,
as if I meant naughtily.

Come, you are deceived,
I think of no such thing.

[persistent knocking]

How earnestly they knock.

Pray you, come in,

I would not for half
Troy have you seen here.

My Lord Aeneas. by my
troth, I knew you not,

what news with you so early?

Is not Prince Troilus here?

Here?

What should he do here?

Oh come, come, he's here
my lord, do not deny him

it doth import him much to speak with me.

Is he here, say you?

It's more than I know, I'll be sworn,

for my own part, I came in late.

What should he do here?

Ohh nay, nay, come, come,

you'll do him wrong ere you are ware,

you'll be so true to him,

to be false to him.

Do not you know him, but
yet go fetch him hither,

go.

How now! What's the matter?

My lord, I scarce have
leisure to salute you,

my matter is so rash.

There is at hand,

Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,

the Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor

delivered to us,

and for him forthwith

ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,

we must give up to Diomedes' hand

the Lady Cressida.

Is it so concluded?

By Priam and the general state of Troy.

They are at hand and ready to effect it.

How my achievements

mock me.

I will go meet with them.

My Lord Aeneas, we met by chance,

you did not find me here.

Good, good, my lord, the secrets of nature

have not more gift in taciturnity.

Is it possible?

No sooner got than lost?

The devil take Antenor,

the young prince will go mad,

a plague upon Antenor.

I would they had broke his neck.

How now, what's the matter?

Ohh.

Who was here?

Ah, ah.

Why sigh you so profoundly?

Where's my lord?

Gone?

Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Would I were as deep

under the earth as I am above.

Oh the gods, what's the matter?

I pray thee, get thee in,

would thou hadst ne'er been born,

I knew thou wouldst be his death.

Oh poor gentleman.

A plague upon Antenor.

Good uncle, I beseech you,

what's the matter?

Thou must be gone,
wench, thou must be gone.

Thou art changed for Antenor.

thou must to thy father,

and be from Troilus.

Uh 'twill be his death,

'twill be his bane,

he cannot bear it.

Oh you immortal gods!

I will not go.

Thou must.

I will not uncle.

I have forgotten my father,

I know no touch of consanguinity,

no kin,

no love,

no blood,

no soul so near me

as the sweet Troilus.

Oh you gods divine.

Make Cressid's name the
very crown of falsehood,

if ever she leave Troilus!

Time,

force,

and death,

do to this body what extremes you can,

but the strong base
and building of my love

is as the very center of the earth,

drawing all things to it.

[loud sobbing]

I'll go in and weep.

Do, do.

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.

Be moderate, be moderate.

Why tell you me of moderation?

The grief is fine,

full,

perfect that I taste,

and violenteth in a sense as strong

as that which causeth it.

How can I moderate it?

If I could temporize with my affection,

or brew it to a weak and colder palate,

the like allayment could I give my grief.

My love admits

no qualifying dross.

No more my grief,

in such a precious loss.

Here, here,

here he comes.

Ah,

alas poor ducks.

Oh Troilus,

Troilus.

What a pair of spectacles is here,

let me embrace too.

How now lambs.

Cressid,

I love thee

in so

strained a purity,

that the blessed gods,
as angry with my fancy,

more bright in zeal
than the devotions which

cold lips blow to their deities,

take thee from me.

Have the gods envy?

Aye, aye,

aye, aye,

'tis too plain a case.

And is it true that I must go from Troy?

A hateful truth.

What, and from Troilus too?

From Troy

and Troilus.

Is it possible?

And suddenly,

where injury of chance
puts back leave taking,

justles roughly by all time of pause,

rudely beguiles our
lips of all rejoindure,

forcibly prevents our locked embrasures,

strangles our dear vows even in the birth

of our own laboring breath.

We two,

that with so many thousand
sighs did buy each other,

must poorly sell ourselves with the rude

brevity and discharge of one.

Injurious time

now with a robber's haste

crams his rich thievery
up, he knows not how.

As many farewells as be stars in heaven,

with distinct breath

and consigned kisses to them,

he fumbles up into a lose adieu,

and scants us with a

single famished kiss,

distasted with the salt

of broken tears.

[Aeneas] My lord,

is the lady ready?

Hark, you are called.

Some say the genius so cries come to him,

that instantly must die.

Bid them have patience,

she shall come anon.

Where are my tears?

Rain, to lay this wind,

or my heart will be blown up

by the root.

I must then to the Grecians?

No remedy.

A woeful Cressid amongst the merry Greeks.

When shall we see again?

Hear me, my love,

be thou but true and I will see this.

I true. How now, what wicked deem is this?

Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,

for it is parting from us.

I speak not be thou true, as fearing thee,

for I will throw my
glove to death himself,

that there's no maculation in thy heart.

But be thou true, say I,

to fashion in my sequent protestation,

be thou true, and I will see thee.

Oh, you'll be exposed, my lord, to dangers

as infinite as imminent, but I'll be true.

And I'll grow friend with danger.

Wear this sleeve.

And you this glove.

When shall I see you?

I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,

to give thee nightly visitation.

But yet be true.

Oh heavens be true again.

Hear while I speak it love.

The Grecian youths are

full of qualities,

they're loving,

well composed with gifts of nature,

and flowing o'er with arts and exercise.

How novelties may move,
and parts with person,

alas, a kind of godly jealousy,

which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,

makes me afeard.

Oh heavens, you love me not.

Die I a villain, then.

In this I do not call
your faith in question

so mainly as my merit.

I cannot sing,

nor

heel the high lavolt,

nor sweeten talk,

nor play at subtle
games, fair virtues all,

to which the Grecians are
most prompt and pregnant.

But I can tell that in each grace of these

there lurks a still and
dumb discursive devil

that tempts most cunningly,

but be not tempted.

Do you think I will?

No.

But

something may be done that we will not,

and sometimes we are devils to ourselves,

when we will tempt the
frailty of our powers

presuming on their changeful potency.

[Aeneas] Nay, good my lord.

Come, kiss and let us part.

[Paris] Brother Troilus.

Good brother, come you hither,

and bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.

My lord, will you be true?

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 crowns,

with truth and plainness
I do wear mine bare.

Fear not my truth,

the moral of my wit is plain and true.

There's all the reach of it.

[wails and cries]

Welcome Sir Diomed,

here is the lady

which for Antenor we deliver you.

At the port lord, I'll
give her to thy hand,

and by the way possess thee what she is.

Entreat her fair,

or by my soul, fair Greek,

if e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,

name Cressid and thy life shall be as safe

as Priam is in Ilion.

Fair Lady Cressid,

so please you, save the
thanks this prince expects,

the luster in your eye,

heaven in your cheek,

pleads your fair usage,

and to Diomed

you shall be mistress,

and command him wholly.

Grecian thou dost not use me courteously

to shame the zeal of my petition to thee

in praising her.

I tell thee, lord of Greece,

she is as far high
soaring o'er thy praises

as thou unworthy to be called her servant.

I charge thee use her well,

even for my charge,

for by the dreadful
Pluto, if thou dost not,

though the great bulk
Achilles be thy guard,

I'll cut thy throat.

Oh be not moved, Prince Troilus.

Let me be privileged by
my place and message,

to be a speaker free,

when I am hence I'll answer to my lust.

And know you lord, I'll
nothing do on charge.

To her own worth she shall be prized,

but that you say be it so,

I'll speak it in my spirit and honor,

no.

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.

[heralding trumpet]

Hark,

Hector's trumpet.

How have we spent the morning,

the prince must think me tardy and remiss,

that swore to ride
before him to the field.

What 'tis Troilus' fault.

Come, come, to field with him.

Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,

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.

Argh

[thudding, rustling straw]

Here art thou in
appointment fresh and fair,

anticipating time with starting courage.

Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,

thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air

may pierce the head of the great combatant

and hale him hither.

Thou, trumpet,

there's my purse.

Now crack thy lungs, and
split thy brazen pipe.

Blow villain, till thy sphered bias cheek

outswell the colic of puffed Aquilon.

Come, stretch thy chest,

let thy eyes spout blood,

thou blowest for Hector.

[heralding trumpet]

No trumpet answers.

'Tis but early days.

Is not yond Diomed,
with Calchas' daughter?

'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait,

he rises on the toe, that spirit of his

in aspiration lifts him from the earth.

Is this the Lady Cressid?

Even she.

Most dearly welcome to
the Greeks, sweet lady.

Our general doth salute you with a kiss.

Yet were the kindness but particular,

'twere best she kissed in general.

And very courtly counsel, I'll begin.

so much for Nestor.

I'll take what winter
from your lips, fair lady,

Achilles bids you welcome.

I had good argument for kissing once.

But that's no argument for kissing now

for this popped Paris in his hardiment,

and parted thus you and your argument.

Oh deadly gall and theme of all our scorns

for which we lose our
heads to gild his horns.

The first was Menelaus' kiss, this mine,

Patroclus kisses you.

Oh this is trim.

Paris and I kiss evermore for him.

I'll have my kiss sir.
Lady, by your leave.

In kissing do you render or receive?

Both take and give.

I'll make my match to live,

the kiss you take is better than you give,

therefore no kiss.

I'll give you boot, I'll
give you three for one.

You are an odd man,
give even or give none.

An odd man lady? Every man is odd.

No, Paris is not,

for you know 'tis true

that you are odd, and he is even with you.

You fillip me on the head.

No, I'll be sworn.

It were no match, your
nail against his horn.

May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?

You may.

I do desire it.

Why, beg, then.

Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss,

when Helen is a maid again, and his.

I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

Never's my day,

and then a kiss of you.

Lady, a word, I'll bring
you to your father.

A woman of quick sense.

Fie, fie upon her, there's
language in her cheek,

her lip, her eye.

Nay, her foot speaks,

her wanton spirits look out at every joint

and motive of her body.

Ack these encounterers, so glib of tongue,

that give accosting welcome ere it comes,

and wide unclasp the
tables of their thoughts

to every tickling reader.

Set them down for sluttish
spoils of opportunity.

Oh ho.

And daughters of the game.

[heralding trumpet]

Yonder comes the troop.

Hail, all you state of Greece!

What shall be done with
him that victory commands?

Or do you purpose a victor shall be known?

Will you the knights shall to the edge of

all extremity pursue each other,

or shall be divided by any voice

or order of the field?

Hector bade ask.

Which way would Hector have it?

He cares not, he'll obey conditions.

'Tis done like Hector,

but securely done,

A little proudly,

and great deal misprizing
the knight opposed.

If not Achilles, sir, what is your name?

If not Achilles,

nothing.

Therefore Achilles.

but, whate'er, know this,

in the extremity of great and little,

valor and pride excel
themselves in Hector.

The one almost as infinite as all,

the other blank as nothing.

Weigh him well,

for that which seems
like pride is courtesy.

This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,

in love whereof, half
Hector stays at home,

half heart, half hand,
half Hector comes to seek

this blended knight, half
Trojan and half Greek.

A maiden battle then? Oh I perceive you.

Here is Sir Diomed, go gentle knight,

Stand by our Ajax.

As you and Lord Aeneas consent upon

the order of their fight, so be it.

Either to the uttermost, or else a breath.

The combatants being kin half stints their

strife before their strokes begin.

They are opposed already.

What Trojan is the same
that looks so heavy?

The youngest son of Priam, a true knight,

they call him Troilus,

not yet mature, yet
matchless, firm of word,

speaking in deeds and
deedless in his tongue.

Not soon provoked nor
being provoked soon calmed,

his heart and hand both

open and both free.

For what he has, he gives,
what thinks he shows.

Yet gives he not till
judgment guide his bounty,

Manly as Hector,

but more dangerous,

for Hector in his blaze of wrath

subscribes to tender objects,

but he in heat of action
is more vindictive

than jealous love.

They call him Troilus, and on him erect

a second hope, as fairly built as Hector.

Thus says Aeneas one that knows the youth

even to his inches,

They are in action.

and did in great Ilion
thus translate him to me.

[metal clanging]

[crowds cheering]

You must no more.

Princes, enough, so please you.

No, no, no I'm not warm
yet, let us fight again.

As Hector pleases.

Why then will I no more.

Thou art, great lord, my
father's sister's son,

a cousin german to great Priam's seed.

The obligation of our blood forbids

a gory emulation 'twixt us twain.

Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so

that thou couldst say
this hand is Grecian all,

and this is Trojan.

The sinews of this leg all
Greek, and this all Troy.

My mother's blood runs
in though dexter cheek,

and this sinister bounds in my father's,

by Jove multipotent.

Thou shouldst not bear
from me a Greekish member,

wherein my sword had not impressure made

of our rank feud.

Argh.

The just gods gainsay

that any drop thou
borrow'st from thy mother,

though mother, my sacred aunt,

should by my mortal sword be drained.

Let me embrace thee, Ajax.

By him that thunders,
thou hast lusty arms,

Hector would have them fall upon him thus.

Cousin, all honor to thee.

I thank thee, Hector.

Thou art too gentle and too free a man,

I came to kill thee, cousin,

and bear hence a great
addition earned in thy death.

Not Neoptolemus so mirable,

on whose bright crest Fame
with her loud'st Oh yes

cries "This is he,"
could promise to himself

a thought of added honor torn from Hector.

There is expectance
here on both the sides,

what further you will do.

We'll answer it, the issue is embracement.

Ajax,

farewell.

Now, now, if I might in
entreaties find successes,

seld I have the chance,
I would desire my famous

cousin to our Grecian tents.

'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles

doth long to see unarmed
the valiant Hector.

Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,

and signify this loving interchange

to the expecters of our Trojan part.

Desire them home.

Give me thy hand, my cousin.

I will go eat with thee
and see your knights.

Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

The worthiest of them
tell me name by name,

but for Achilles, mine own searching eyes

shall find him by his large

and portly size.

Worthy all arms.

As welcome as to one that
would be rid of such an enemy,

but that's no welcome.

Understand more clear,

what's past and what's to
come is strewed with husks

and formless ruin of oblivion.

But in this extant
moment, faith and troth,

strained purely from
all hollow bias drawing,

bids thee,

with most divine integrity,

from heart of very heart,
great Hector, welcome.

I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.

My well-famed lord of
Troy, no less to you.

Let me confirm my princely
brother's greeting

you brace of warlike
brothers, welcome hither.

Who must we answer?

The noble Menelaus.

Oh

oh you, my lord?

By Mars his gauntlet, thanks.

Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath.

Your quondam wife swears
still by Venus' glove.

She's well, but bade me
not commend her to you.

Name her not now sir,
she's a deadly theme.

Oh pardon, I offend.

No, no, no, no I have thou gallant Trojan,

seen thee oft laboring
for destiny make cruel way

through ranks of Greekish youth,

and I have seen thee as hot as Perseus,

spur thy Phrygian steed,

despising many forfeits and subduements.

When thou hast hung thy
advanced sword in the air,

not letting it decline on the declined,

that I have said to some my standers by

lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life.

And I have seen thee
pause and take thy breath,

when that a ring of Greeks
have hemmed thee in,

like an Olympian wrestling.

This have I seen.

But this thy countenance,
still locked in steel,

I never saw till now.

I knew

thy grandsire,

and once fought with him,
he was a soldier good,

but by great Mars, the captain of us all,

never like thee.

Let an old man embrace thee,

and worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

'Tis the old Nestor.

Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle

that hast so long walked
hand in hand with time.

Most reverend Nestor,

I am glad to clasp thee.

I would my arms could
match thee in contention,

as they contend with thee in courtesy.

I would they could.

By this white beard, I'd
fight with thee tomorrow.

Well, welcome, welcome,
I have seen the time.

I wonder now

how yonder city stands

When we have here her
base and pillar by us.

I know your favor, Lord Ulysses, well.

Ah, sir, there's many a
Greek and Trojan dead,

since first I saw yourself
and Diomed in Ilion,

on your Greekish embassy.

Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue,

my prophecy is but half
his journey yet for

yonder walls, that pertly front your town,

yond towers, whose wanton
tops do buss the clouds,

must kiss their own feet.

I must not believe you.

There they stand yet,
and modestly I think,

the fall of every Phrygian stone will

cost a drop of Greekish blood.

Sh sh sh.

The end crowns all, and
that old common arbitrator,

time

will one day end it.

So to him we leave it, most
gentle and most valiant

Hector, welcome. After the
general, I beseech you next

to feast with me and meet me at my tent.

I shall forestall thee,

Lord Ulysses thou.

Now, Hector,

I have fed mine eyes on thee.

I have with exact view
perused thee, Hector,

and quoted joint by joint.

Is this Achilles?

I am Achilles.

Stand fair, I pray thee,
let me look on thee.

Behold thy fill.

Nay, I have done already.

Thou art too brief.

I will a second time

as I would buy thee,

view thee limb by limb.

Oh like a book of sport
thou'lt read me o'er,

but there's more in me
than thou understand'st.

Why dost thou so oppress
me with thine eye?

Tell me, you heavens, in
which part of his body

shall I destroy him?

Whether there, or there, or there?

That I may give the local wound a name

and make distinct the very breach whereout

Hector's great spirit flew.

Answer me, heavens.

It would discredit the
blest gods, proud man

to answer such a question.

Stand again.

Think'st thou to take
my life so pleasantly,

as to prenominate in nice conjecture

Where thou wilt hit me dead?

I tell thee, yea.

Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,

I'd not believe thee.

Henceforth guard thee well,

for I'll not kill thee
there, nor there, nor there,

but by the forge that
stithied Mars his helm,

I'll kill thee every
where, yea, o'er and o'er.

You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag,

his insolence draws folly from my lips.

But I'll endeavor deeds
to match these words,

or may I never.

Do not

chafe thee, cousin.

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone

till accident or purpose bring you to it,

you may have every day enough of Hector

if you have stomach.

The general state I fear,
can scarce entreat you

to be odd with him.

I pray you, let us see you in the field.

We've had pelting wars, since you refused

the Grecians' cause.

Dost thou entreat me, Hector?

Tomorrow will I meet thee, fell as death,

tonight all friends.

Thy hand upon that match.

First all you peers of Greece,

go to my tent, there
in the full convive we.

Afterwards, as Hector's leisure

and your bounties shall concur together,

severally entreat him.

Beat loud the tambourines,

let the trumpets blow,

That this great soldier
may his welcome know.

[drums beat]

[trumpets blow]

My Lord Ulysses.

Ah.

Tell me, I beseech you,

in what place of the
field doth Calchas keep?

At Menelaus' tent most princely Troilus.

There Diomed doth feast with him tonight,

who neither looks on
the heaven nor on earth,

but gives all gaze and
bent of amorous view

on the fair Cressid.

Shall I sweet lord, be
bound to you so much,

after we part from Agamemnon's tent,

to bring me thither?

You shall command me, sir.

As gentle tell me,

of what honor was

this Cressida in Troy?

Had she no lover there

that wails her absence?

Oh sir,

to such as boasting show their scars.

A mock is due.

Shall we walk on, my lord?

She was beloved,

she loved,

she is, and doth.

But still, sweet love is
food for fortune's tooth.

I'll heat his blood with
Greekish wine tonight,

which with my scimitar I'll cool tomorrow.

Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

Ah here comes Thersites.

How now, thou cur of envy,

thou crusty batch of
nature, what's the news?

Why, thou picture of what thou seemest,

an idol of idiot worshippers,
there's a letter for thee.

From whence, fragment?

Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

Well said, adversity.

Prithee, be silent boy,

I profit not by thy talk.

thou art thought to be
Achilles' male varlet.

Ooh male varlet, you rogue, what's that?

Why, his masculine whore.

Now the rotten diseases of the south,

the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs,

loads o' gravel of the back,

cold palsies, raw eyes,
dirt-rotten livers,

wheezing lungs, sciaticas,

incurable bone-ache,

take and take again such
preposterous discoveries.

Why thou damnable box of
envy, thou, what meanest

thou to curse thus?

Do I curse thee?

Why no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson

indistinguishable cur, no.

Why art thou then exasperate,

thou idle immaterial skein of sleave silk,

thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou.

oh,

how the poor world is
pestered with such waterflies,

diminutives of nature.

Out, gall.

Finch egg.

Sweet Patroclus,

I am thwarted quite from my great purpose

in tomorrow's battle.

Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,

A token from her daughter, my fair love.

Both taxing me and gaging me to keep

an oath that I have sworn.

I will not break it.

Fall Greeks, fail fame,
honor or go or stay.

My major vow lies here,

this I'll obey.

Come, come, Thersites,
help to trim my tent

this night in banqueting
must all be spent.

Away, Patroclus.

With too much blood and too little brain,

these two may run mad,

but if with too much brain

and too little blood they do,

I'll be a curer of madmen.

Here's Agamemnon,

an honest fellow enough

and one that loves quails,

but he has not so much brain as earwax.

Oh his brother, the bull,
the primitive statue,

an oblique memorial of cuckolds.

To be a dog, a mule, a
cat, a toad, a lizard,

an owl, or a herring without a roe,

I would not care,

but to be Menelaus.

I would conspire against destiny.

Hey day, spirits and fires.

Fame with her brights, oh yes, oh yes.

We go wrong, we go wrong.

No, yonder 'tis there,
where we see the lights.

I trouble you.

No, not a whit.

Here comes himself to guide you.

Welcome brave Hector, welcome princes all.

So now, fair prince of Troy,

I bid good night.

Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.

Thanks and good night
to the Greeks' general.

Good night, my lord.

Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.

Good night and welcome, both at once,

to those that go or tarry.

Old Nestor tarries, and you too Diomed,

keep Hector company an hour or two.

I cannot, lord.

I have important business,

the tide whereof is now.

Good night,

great Hector.

Give me your hand.

And so, good night.

Come into my tent.

Follow his torch; he
goes to Calchas' tent,

I'll keep you company.

Sweet sir, you honor me.

Oh no.

That same Diomed's a false hearted rogue,

a most unjust knave.

I will no more trust him when he leers

than I will a serpent when he hisses.

They say he keeps a Trojan drab,

and uses the traitor Calchas' tent.

I'll after.

Nothing but lechery,

all incontinent varlets.

[sighs]

What, are you up here, ho, speak.

Who calls?

Diomed,

where's your daughter?

She comes to you.

How now,

my charge.

Now, my sweet guardian.

Hark a word with you.

Yea, so familiar.

She'll sing any man at first sight.

Will you remember?

Remember?

Yes.

Nay, but do, then.

And let your mind be
coupled with your words.

What should she remember?

List.

Sweet honey Greek,

tempt me no more to folly.

Roguery.

Nay, then.

I'll tell you what.

Foh, foh come, tell a pin.

You are forsworn.

In faith, I cannot,

what would you have me do?

A juggling trick, to be secretly open.

What did you swear you would bestow on me?

I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath,

bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.

Good night.

Diomed.

[Diomedes] No, no, good night.

I'll be your fool no more.

Thy better must.

Oh plague and madness.

You are moved, prince,
let us depart, I pray you,

lest your displeasure
should enlarge itself

to wrathful terms, this
place is dangerous,

I beseech you, go.

Behold, I pray you.

Nay, good my lord, go off.

You flow to great
distraction, come, my lord.

I pray thee, stay.

You have not patience, come.

I pray you stay, by hell
and all his torments

I will not speak a word.

And so, good night.

Nay, but you part in anger.

Doth that grieve thee?

Oh withered truth.

How now Trojan.

By Jove I will be patient.

Guardian,

why, Greek.

Foh, foh, adieu,

you palter.

In faith, I do not,
come hither once again.

She strokes his cheek.

Come, come.

By Jove I will not speak a word,

between my will and all offenses,

there is a guard of patience.

Stay a little while.

How the devil Luxury,
with his fat rump and

potato finger, tickles these together.

Fry, lechery, fry.

But will you, then?

In faith I will, lo,

never trust me else.

Give me some

token

for the surety of it.

I'll fetch you one.

You have sworn patience.

Fear me not my lord.

I will not be myself, nor have cognition

of what I feel. I am all patience.

Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.

O beauty, where is thy faith?

My lord.

I will be patient, outwardly I will.

You look upon that sleeve, behold it well.

He loved me,

Oh false wench.

Give't me again.

Whose was it?

It is no matter, now I have't again.

I will not meet with you tomorrow night,

I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.

Now she sharpens,

well said, whetstone.

[Diomedes] I shall have it

[Cressida] What, this?

[Diomedes] Aye, that.

Oh all you gods,

Oh

pretty, pretty pledge.

Thy master now lies thinking on his bed

of thee and me,

and sighs,

and takes my glove,

and gives memorial dainty kisses to it,

as I kiss thee.

Nay, do not snatch it from me,

he that takes that doth
take my heart withal.

[Diomedes] I had your heart
before, this follows it.

I did swear patience.

[Cressida] You shall not have it, Diomed.

Faith, you shall not.

I'll give you something else.

I will have this, whose was it?

It is no matter.

Come, tell me whose it was.

'Twas one's that loved
me better than you will.

But, now you have it, take it.

Whose was it?

By all Diana's waiting women yond,

and by herself, I will not tell you whose.

Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm,

and grieve his spirit that
dares not challenge it.

Wert thou the devil, and
worest it on thy horn,

it should be challenged.

Well, well,

'tis done,

'tis past,

and yet it is not.

I will not keep my word.

Why then farewell,

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

You shall not go, one cannot speak a word,

but it straight starts you.

I do not like this fooling.

What,

shall I come?

The hour?

Aye,

come,

Oh Jove, do you come, I shall be plagued.

Farewell

till then.

Good night.

I prithee, come.

Troilus,

farewell,

one eye yet looks on thee

but with my heart the other eye doth see.

Oh,

poor our sex.

This fault in us I find,

the error of our eye directs our mind.

What error leads must err.

Therefore

conclude

minds swayed by eyes

are full of turpitude.

All's done, my lord.

It is.

Why stay we, then?

To make a recordation

to my soul,

of every syllable

that here was spoke.

But if I tell how these two did co-act,

shall I not lie

in publishing a truth?

Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,

an esperance so obstinately
strong, that doth

invert the attest of eyes and ears,

as if those organs had
deceptious functions

created only to calumniate.

Was Cressid here?

I cannot conjure Lord.

She was not sure.

Most sure she was.

Why my negation hath no taste of madness.

Nor mine, my lord,
Cressid was here but now.

Let it not be believed

for womanhood,

think,

we had mothers,

do not give advantage to stubborn critics,

apt without a theme for depravation,

to square the general
sex by Cressid's rule,

rather think this not Cressid.

What hath she done my lord,

that can soil our mothers?

Nothing at all,

unless that this were she.

This she?

No, this is Diomed's Cressida,

if beauty have a soul, this is not she,

if souls guide vows, if
vows be sanctimonies,

if sanctimony be the gods' delight,

if there be rule in unity itself,

this was

not she.

Oh madness of discourse,

that cause sets up

with

and against itself.

Bi-fold authority.

Where reason can revolt without perdition,

and loss assume all reason without revolt.

This is, and is not, Cressid.

Within my soul there doth conduce a fight

of this strange nature,

that a thing inseparate divides more

wider than the sky and earth,

and yet the spacious
breadth of this division

admits no orifex for a point as subtle

as Ariachne's broken woof to enter.

Instance, Oh instance,
strong as Pluto's gates,

Cressid is mine,

tied with the bonds of heaven.

Instance,

O instance,

strong as heaven itself,

the bonds of heaven
are slipped, dissolved,

and loosed and with another
knot, five-finger-tied,

the fractions of her
faith, orts of her love,

the fragments, scraps,
the bits and greasy relics

of her o'er-eaten faith,
are bound to Diomed.

May worthy Troilus be half attached

to that which here his
passion doth express?

Aye, Greek, and that
shall be divulged well

in characters as red as Mars, his heart

inflamed with Venus.

Never did young man fancy with so

eternal and so fixed a soul.

Hark, Greek,

as much as I do Cressid love,

So much by weight hate I her Diomed.

That sleeve is mine

that he'll bear on his helm.

Were it a casque composed
by Vulcan's skill,

my sword should bite it.

not the dreadful spout which shipmen

do the hurricano call,

constringed in mass by the almighty sun,

shall dizzy with more clamor Neptune's ear

in his descent than
shall my prompted sword

falling on Diomed.

[sobbing]

Oh Cressid, Oh false Cressid.

False, false, false.

Let all untruths stand
by thy stained name,

and they'll seem glorious.

Contain yourself, your
passion draws ears hither.

I have been seeking
you this hour, my lord.

Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy.

Ajax, your guard, stays
to conduct you home.

Have with you, prince.

My courteous lord,

adieu.

Farewell, revolted fair,

and Diomed,

stand fast,

and wear a castle on thy head.

I'll bring you to the gates.

Accept distracted thanks.

When was my lord so
much ungently tempered,

to stop his ears against admonishment?

Unarm,

unarm, and do not fight today.

You train me to offend you,

get you in.

By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.

My dreams will sure
prove ominous to the day.

No more, I say.

Where is my brother Hector?

Here sister, armed, and bloody in intent.

Consort with me in loud and dear petition,

pursue we him on knees,

for I have dreamed of bloody turbulence,

and this whole night hath nothing been

but shapes and forms of slaughter.

Oh, 'tis true.

Bid my trumpet sound.

No notes of sally for the
heavens, sweet brother.

Be gone, I say, the gods
have heard me swear.

The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows,

they are polluted offerings,

more abhorred than spotted
livers in the sacrifice.

Oh be persuaded.

Do not count it holy
to hurt by being just,

it is as lawful for we would give much,

to use violent thefts and
rob in the behalf of charity.

It is the purpose that
makes strong the vow,

but vows to every purpose must not hold.

Unarm, sweet Hector.

Hold you still I say.

Mine honor holds the weather of my fate.

Life every man holds dear,

but the dear man holds honor

far more precious dear than life.

How now, young man, mean'st
thou to fight today?

Cassandra, call my father to persuade.

No faith young Troilus,
doff thy harness youth.

I am today in the vein of chivalry,

let grow thy sinews till
their knots be strong

and tempt not yet the brushes of the war.

Unarm thee, go, and doubt
thou not, brave boy,

I'll stand today for thee and me and Troy.

Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,

Which better fits a lion than a man.

What vice is that, good
Troilus? Chide me for it.

When many times the captive Grecian falls,

even in the fan and
wind of your fair sword,

you bid them rise and live.

Ah 'tis fair play.

Fool's play by heaven, Hector.

How now, how now.

For the love of all the gods,

let's leave the hermit
pity with our mothers,

and when we have our armors buckled on,

the venomed vengeance
ride upon our swords.

Spur them to ruthful work,

rein them from ruth.

Fie savage, fie.

Hector then 'tis wars.

Troilus,

I would not have you fight today.

Who should withhold me?

Not fate,

obedience, nor the hand of Mars

beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire.

Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,

their eyes o'ergalled with
the recourse of tears.

Nor you, my brother, with
your true sword drawn

opposed to hinder me, should stop my way,

but by my ruin.

Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast,

he is thy crutch.

Now if thou lose thy stay,

thou on him leaning,

and all Troy on thee, fall all together.

Come, Hector,

come,

go back.

Thy wife hath dreamt,

thy mother hath had visions,

Cassandra doth foresee, and I myself

am like a prophet suddenly enrapt

to tell thee that this day is ominous.

Therefore,

come back.

Aeneas is a-field,

and I do stand engaged to many Greeks,

even in the faith of valor,

to appear this morning to them.

Aye, but thou shalt not go.

Must not break my faith.

You know me dutiful therefore, dear sir,

let me not shame respect,
but give me leave

to take that course by
your consent and voice,

which you do here forbid me,

royal Priam.

Oh Priam, yield not to him.

Do not, dear father.

Andromache, I am offended with you,

upon the love you bear me, get you in.

This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl

makes all these bodements.

Oh farewell, sweet Hector.

Look, how thou diest,

look, how thy eye turns pale,

look how thy wounds do
bleed at many vents.

Hark, how Troy roars.

How Hecuba cries out.

How poor Andromache
pours her dolours forth,

behold, distraction,

frenzy and amazement,

like witless antics, one another meet,

and all cry, Hector.

Hector's dead.

Oh Hector.

Away, away.

Farewell,

yet soft,

Hector

I take my leave,

thou dost thyself

and all our Troy deceive.

You are amazed, my liege,

at her exclaim?

Go in and cheer the town,

we'll forth and fight,

Do deeds worth praise,

and tell you them at night.

Farewell,

the gods with safety stand about thee.

[heralding trumpets]

[Troilus] They are at it, hark.

Proud Diomed, believe
I come to lose my arm,

or win my sleeve.

My lord, my lord? Do you hear?

What now?

Here is a letter come from yond poor girl.

Let me read.

[coughing]

A whoreson tisick, a
whoreson rascally tisick,

so troubles me,

and the foolish fortune of this girl.

What one thing, what another, I shall

leave you one of these days.

And I have a rheum in mine eyes too,

and such an ache in my bones

that, unless a man were cursed,

I cannot tell what to think on it.

What says she there?

Words,

words, mere words, no
matter from the heart,

The effect doth operate another way.

Go wind, to wind,

there turn and change together.

My love with words and
errors still she feeds,

but edifies another with her deeds.

[beating drums]

Now they are clapper clawing one another.

That dissembling abominable varlet Diomed,

has got that same scurvy
doting foolish young knave's

sleeve of Troy there in his helm.

I would fain see them meet,

that that same young Trojan ass,

that loves the whore there,

might send that Greekish
whore-masterly villain,

with the sleeve, back to the
dissembling luxurious drab

of a sleeveless errand.

O' the t'other side,

the policy of those crafty

swearing rascals, that
stale old mouse eaten dry

cheese, Nestor, and that
same dog fox, Ulysses, is

not proved worth a blackberry.

They set me up in policy,
the mongrel cur, Ajax,

against that dog of as
bad a kind, Achilles.

And now is the cur Ajax
prouder than the cur Achilles,

and will not arm today,

whereupon

the Grecians begin to proclaim

barbarism, and policy
grows into an ill opinion.

[Troilus] Fly not.

Soft, here comes sleeve, and t'other.

For shouldst thou take the river Styx,

I would swim after.

Thou dost miscall retire,

I do not fly but advantageous care

withdrew me from the odds of multitude,

have at thee.

Hold thy whore, Grecian.

Now for thy whore, Trojan.

What art thou, Greek?

Art thou for Hector's match?

Art thou of blood and honor?

Oh no, no, I am a rascal,

a scurvy railing knave,

a very filthy rogue.

I do believe thee,

live.

Oh

God-a-mercy,

thou wilt believe me,

but a plague break thy
neck for frightening me.

What's become of the wenching rogues?

I think they've swallowed one another.

I'll seek them.

Renew, renew.

The fierce Polydamas hath beat down Menon,

bastard Margarelon hath Doreus prisoner,

and stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,

upon the pashed corses of the
kings Epistrophus and Cedius

Polyxenes is slain,

Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt,

Patroclus ta'en or slain,

and Palamedes sore hurt and bruised.

The dreadful Sagittary
appalls our numbers,

haste we Diomed to reinforcement,

or we perish all.

Go bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,

and bid the snail paced
Ajax arm for shame.

There is a thousand Hectors in the field,

now there he fights on Galathe his horse,

and there lacks work.

Anon he's there afoot,
and there they fly or die

like scaled sculls before
the belching whale.

Then is he yonder, and
there the strawy Greeks,

ripe for his edge fall down before him,

like the mower's swath.

Here, there, and every where,

he leaves and takes,

dexterity so obeying appetite

that what he will he
does, and does so much,

that proof is called impossibility.

Courage princes, great Achilles is arming,

weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.

Patroclus' wounds have
roused his drowsy blood,

together with his mangled Myrmidons,

that handless, noseless,
hacked and chipped,

come to him,

crying for Hector.

Ajax hath lost a friend
and foams at mouth,

and he is armed and at it,

roaring for Troilus, who hath done today

mad and fantastic execution.

Engaging and redeeming of himself

with such a careless
force and forceless care.

as if that luck, in very spite of cunning,

bade him win all.

Troilus, thou coward Troilus,

show thy head.

[Diomedes] Troilus I say,

where's Troilus?

What wouldst thou?

I would correct him.

Were I the general, thou
shouldst have my office

ere that correction.

Troilus, I say.

Traitor Diomed.

Turn thy false face, thou traitor,

Ha, art thou there?

I'll fight with him alone.

Stand, Diomed.

He's my prize,

I will not look upon.

Come, both you cogging Greeks.

have at you both.

Yea, Troilus? Oh well
fought, my youngest brother.

Stand, stand, thou Greek.

Thou art a goodly mark,

Nay wilt thou not?

I like thy armor well,

I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all,

but I'll be master of it.

Come here about me, you my Myrmidons.

Mark what I say.

Attend me where I wheel.

Strike not a stroke, but
keep yourselves in breath.

And when I have the bloody Hector found,

empale him with your weapons round about.

In fellest manner execute your arms.

Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.

It is decreed Hector the great must die.

The cuckold and the
cuckold-maker are at it.

Now bull, now dog,

Loo Paris, loo, loo Paris, loo.

The bull has the game,
ware the horns, ah ho.

Turn, slave, and fight.

What art thou?

A bastard son of Priam's.

I am a bastard too,

I love bastards.

I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed,

bastard in mind, bastard in valor,

in every thing illegitimate.

One bear will not bite another,

then wherefore should one bastard?

Take heed, if the son of a whore

fight for a whore, he tempts judgment.

Farewell, bastard.

The devil take thee,

coward.

[blows raspberry]

Most putrefied core,

so fair without,

thy goodly armor thus hath cost thy life.

Now is my day's work done.

I'll take good breath.

Rest, sword.

Thou hast thy fill of blood

and death.

Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set.

How ugly night comes
breathing on his heels,

even with the veil and darking of the sun,

to close the day up,

Hector's life is done.

I am unarmed,

forego this vantage, Greek.

Strike, fellows, strike,
this is the man I seek.

So, Ilion fall thou next.

Come Troy, sink down.

Here lies thy heart,

thy sinews,

and thy bone.

On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,

Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.

[retreat sounds]

Hark, a retire upon our Grecian part.

The dragon wing of night
o'erspreads the earth,

and stickler-like, the armies separate.

My half-supped sword, that
frankly would have fed,

pleased with this dainty
bait, thus goes to bed.

Come, tie his body to my horse's tail,

along the field I will the Trojan trail.

[painful howls]

Stand ho, yet are we masters of the field,

never go home,

here starve we out the night.

Hector is slain.

Hector!

The gods forbid.

He's dead,

and at the murderer's horse's tail,

in beastly sort dragged
through the shameful field.

Frown on you heavens,

effect your rage with speed.

Sit gods upon your
thrones, and smite at Troy.

I say at once

let your brief plagues be mercy,

and linger not our sure destructions on.

My lord, you do discomfort all the host.

You understand me not that tell me so,

I do not speak of flight,
of fear, of death,

but dare all imminence that gods and men

address their dangers in.

Hector is gone.

Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?

Let him that will a
screech-owl aye be called

go in to Troy, and say there,

Hector's dead.

There is a word will Priam turn to stone.

Make wells and Niobes
of the maids and wives,

Cold statues of the youth, and in a word,

scare Troy out of itself.

March away.

Hector is dead, there is no more to say.

Stay yet.

You vile abominable tents,

thus proudly pight upon
our Phrygian plains,

let Titan rise as early as he dare,

I'll through and through you.

And thou great-sized coward,

no space of earth shall
sunder our two hates.

I'll haunt thee like a
wicked conscience still

that mouldeth goblins
swift as frenzy's thoughts.

Strike a free march to Troy,

with comfort go.

Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.

Hear you, hear you.

Hence, broker-lackey.

Ignomy and shame pursue thy life,

and live aye with thy name.

A goodly medicine for my aching bones.

Oh world, world, world,

thus is the poor agent despised.

Oh traitors and bawds,

how earnestly are you set
awork, and how ill requited.

Why should our

endeavor be so loved

and the performance so loathed?

What

instance for it?

What verse for it?

Let me see,

♪ Full merrily ♪

♪ The humble bee doth sing ♪

♪ Till he hath lost ♪

♪ His honey and his sting ♪

♪ And being once ♪

♪ Subdued ♪

♪ In armed tail ♪

♪ Sweet honey ♪

♪ And sweet notes ♪

♪ The both together fail ♪

Good traders in the flesh,

set this in your

painted cloths.

♪ As many ♪

♪ As be here ♪

♪ Of pander's hall ♪

♪ Your eyes half out ♪

♪ Weep out at Pandar's fall ♪

♪ Or if you cannot weep ♪

♪ Yet give some groans ♪

♪ Though not for me ♪

♪ Yet for your aching bones ♪

Brethren and sisters

of the hold-door trade,

Some two months hence

my will shall here be made.

Till then I'll sweat

and seek about for eases,

And at that time

bequeath you

my diseases.