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But sorrow, that is crouch'd in seeming gladness,

Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's—well,

go to—there were no more comparison between the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister

Cassandra's wit, but-
Tro. O Pandarusi I tell thee, Pandarus,-

When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench’d. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair ;'
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my

heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
Handlest in thy discourse, O, 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 tell'st me,
As true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me

The knife that made it.
Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.
Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is : if she

be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the

mends in her own hands. Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus ! Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; ill-thought on of

her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between,

but small thanks for my labour. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as

Helen : an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care

not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. Tro. Say I she is not fair? Pan. 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 nor Tro. Sweet Pandarus,Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

make no more i' the matter. Tro. Pandarus, Pan. Not I.

[Exit. An alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, rude sounds

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–O gods, how do you plague me !
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd 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 call’d the wild and wandering flood,
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.

Alarum. Enter Æneas.
Æne. How now, Prince Troilus ! wherefore not afield ?
Tro. Because not there : this woman's answer sorts,

For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas ?
Æne.

Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scom;
Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Æne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! Tro. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'

But to the sport abroad : are you bound thither?
Æne. In all swift haste.
Tro.

Come, go we then together. (Exeunt.

SCENE II

The same. A street.

Enter Cressida and Alexander her man.
Cres. Who were those went by ?
Alex.

Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Alex.

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, to-day was moved :

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He chid Andromache and struck his armourer;
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 profit, weep what it foresaw

In Hector's wrath.
Cres.

What was his cause of anger?
Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;

They call him Ajax. Cres.

Good; and what of him? Alex. They say he is a very man per se,

And stands alone. Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no

legs. Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed 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 humours that his valour 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 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. Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make

Hector angry? Alex. 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.

Enter Pandarus. Cres. Who comes here? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. Cres. Hector 's a gallant man. Alex. As may be in the world, lady. Pan. What's that? what's that ? Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?

Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin ? When

were you at Ilium ? Cres. This morning, uncle. Pan. What were you talking of when I came ? Was Hector

armed and gone ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so: Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cres. So he

says

here. Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he 'll lay about

him to-day, 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. Cres. What, is he angry too? Pan. Who, Troilus ! Troilus is the better man of the two, Cres. O Jupiter ! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector ? Do you know

a man if you see him? Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees. Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.

Pan. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus ! I would he were. Cres. So he is. Pan. Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. Cres. He is not Hector. Pan. 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 i No,

Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cres. Excuse me. Pan. He is elder. Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. Pan. 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.

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pan. Nor his qualities.
Cres. No matter.
Pan. Nor his beauty.
Cres. 'Twould not become him ; his own's better.
Pan. You have no judgement, niece: Helen herself swore th’

other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour—for so ʼtis, I must

confess,-not brown neither -
Cres. No, but brown.
Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris.

a

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.
Cres. Then Troilus should have too much: if she praised him

above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour 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. Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Cres. Then she's a merry Greek indeed.

[Paris. Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th other

day into the compassed window,--and, you know, he has

not past three or four hairs on his chin,Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his par

ticulars therein to a total. Pan. Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within three

pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man and so old a lifter ? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him : she came

and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,Cres. Juno have mercy! how came it cloven ? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think his smiling be

comes him better than any man in all Phrygia.
Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.
Pan. Does he not?
Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
Pan. Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that Helen loves

Troilus,
Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you 'll prove it so.

' Pan. Troilus! why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an

a

addle egg.

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Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle

head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his

chin ; indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must

needs confess, – Cres. Without the rack. Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. Pan. But there was such laughing ! Queen Hecuba laughed,

that her eyes ran o'er. Cres. With mill-stones. Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her

eyes : did her eyes run o'er too? Pan. And Hector laughed.

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