Troy. A street.
(Cressida; Alexander; Pandarus; Aeneas; Antenor; Hector; Paris; Helenus; Troilus; Trojan Soldiers; Troilus’ Boy)
Cressida’s servant Alexander tells her of how Hector is irritated that Ajax got the better of him the day before. Pandarus arrives and begins praising Troilus to his niece, even suggesting that Troilus is a better man than Hector, which Cressida scoffs at. Uncle and niece mock at one another until the heroes of Troy begin returning from the battle. Cressida is very interested in them, despite Pandarus’s endless search for Troilus among them. When Troilus does appear, Pandarus cheers him so much that Cressida grows embarrassed. Her uncle has no interest in the common soldiers, though. He goes off when Troilus sends a message for him, and to herself Cressida admits that she is in love with Troilus, but wants to be pursued, as the harder she is to get the more he will love her. (167 lines)
Enter Cressida and her man Alexander.
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 fix’d, today was mov’d:
He chid Andromache and strook his armorer,
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose he was harness’d 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 Troyan blood, 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 th’ are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
This man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions: he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant; a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors that his valor is crush’d into folly, his folly sauc’d 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 every thing 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 cop’d Hector in the battle and strook 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 arm’d and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?
Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
E’en so; Hector was stirring early.
That were we talking of, and of his anger.
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.
O Jupiter, there’s no comparison.
What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?
Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.
Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.
Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.
No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.
’Tis just to each of them; he is himself.
Himself? Alas, poor Troilus, I would he were!
So he is.
Condition I had gone barefoot to India.
He is not Hector.
Himself? No! He’s not himself. Would ’a were himself! 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.
He is elder.
Pardon me, pardon me.
Th’ other’s not come to’t. You shall tell me another tale when th’ other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.
He shall not need it if he have his own.
Nor his qualities.
Nor his beauty.
’Twould not become him, his own’s better.
You have no judgment, niece. Helen herself swore th’ other day that Troilus, for a brown favor (for so ’tis, 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 prais’d his complexion above Paris.
Why, Paris hath color enough.
So he has.
Then Troilus should have too much: if she prais’d 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 lieve Helen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.
I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris.
Then she’s a merry Greek indeed.
Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’ other day into the compass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on his chin—
Indeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.
Why, he is very young, and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.
Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?
But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came 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.
O, he smiles valiantly.
Does he not?
O yes, and ’twere a cloud in autumn.
Why, go to then. But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus—
Troilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.
Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.
If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i’ th’ shell.
I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed she has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess.
Without the rack.
And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.
Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer.
But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran o’er.
And Cassandra laugh’d.
But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her eyes run o’er too?
And Hector laugh’d.
At what was all this laughing?
Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.
And’t had been a green hair, I should have laugh’d too.
They laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.
What was his answer?
Quoth she, “Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin—and one of them is white.”
This is her question.
That’s true, make no question of that. “Two and fifty hairs,” quoth he, “and one 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 fork’d one,” quoth he, “pluck’t out, and give it him.” But there was such laughing! And Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d, and all the rest so laugh’d, that it pass’d.
So let it now, for it has been a great while going by.
Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday, think on’t.
So I do.
I’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you an’ ’twere a man born in April.
Sound a retreat.
And I’ll spring up in his tears an’ ’twere a nettle against May.
Hark, they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see them as they pass toward Ilion? Good niece, do, sweet niece 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.
Enter Aeneas and passes over the stage.
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 anon.
Enter Antenor and passes over the stage.
That’s Antenor. He has a shrowd wit, I can tell you, and he’s man good enough. He’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements 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.
Enter Hector and passes over the stage.
That’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy way. Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks! There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man?
O, a brave man!
Is ’a not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there, there’s no jesting; there’s laying on, take’t off who will, as they say. There be hacks!
Be those with swords?
Swords! Any thing, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all one. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.
Enter Paris and passes over the stage.
Look ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? 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.
Enter Helenus and passes over the stage.
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?
Enter Troilus and passes over the stage.
Where? Yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus! There’s a man, niece! Hem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry!
Peace, for shame, peace!
Mark him, note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece. Look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! He never 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. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.
Enter Trojan Soldiers and pass over the stage.
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! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and suchlike, the spice and salt that season a man?
Ay, a minc’d man, and then to be bak’d 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, 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 what 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.
You are such another!
Enter Troilus’ Boy.
Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
At your own house, there he unarms him.
Good boy, tell him I come.
Exit Troilus’s Boy.
I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
I will be with you, niece, by and by.
To bring, uncle?
Ay, 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 thousandfold I see
Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be;
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
Things won are done, joy’s soul lies in the doing.
That she belov’d knows nought that knows not this:
Men prize the thing ungain’d 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; ungain’d, beseech;
Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.
Exit with Alexander.