Chapter XIX: Act I: SCENE I.--A Camp

_Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, _and_ NESTOR.

_Agam._ Princes, it seems not strange to us, nor new, That, after nine years siege, Troy makes defence, Since every action of recorded fame Has with long difficulties been involved, Not answering that idea of the thought, Which gave it birth; why then, you Grecian chiefs, With sickly eyes do you behold our labours, And think them our dishonour, which indeed Are the protractive trials of the gods, To prove heroic constancy in men?

_Nest._ With due observance of thy sovereign seat, Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply Thy well-weighed words. In struggling with misfortunes Lies the true proof of virtue: On smooth seas, How many bauble-boats dare set their sails, And make an equal way with firmer vessels! But let the tempest once enrage that sea, And then behold the strong-ribbed argosie, Bounding between the ocean and the air, Like Perseus mounted on his Pegasus. Then where are those weak rivals of the main? Or, to avoid the tempest, fled to port, Or made a prey to Neptune. Even thus Do empty show, and true-prized worth, divide In storms of fortune.

_Ulys._ Mighty Agamemnon! Heart of our body, soul of our designs, In whom the tempers, and the minds of all Should be inclosed,--hear what Ulysses speaks.

_Agam._ You have free leave.

_Ulys._ Troy had been down ere this, and Hector's sword Wanted a master, but for our disorders: The observance due to rule has been neglected, Observe how many Grecian tents stand void Upon this plain, so many hollow factions: For, when the general is not like the hive, To whom the foragers should all repair, What honey can our empty combs expect? Or when supremacy of kings is shaken, What can succeed? How could communities, Or peaceful traffic from divided shores, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand on their solid base? Then every thing resolves to brutal force, And headlong force is led by hoodwinked will. For wild ambition, like a ravenous wolf, Spurred on by will, and seconded by power, Must make an universal prey of all, And last devour itself.

_Nest._ Most prudently Ulysses has discovered The malady, whereof our state is sick.

_Diom._ 'Tis truth he speaks; the general's disdained By him one step beneath, he by the next; That next by him below: So each degree Spurns upward at superior eminence. Thus our distempers are their sole support; Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

_Agam._ The nature of this sickness found, inform us From whence it draws its birth?

_Ulys._ The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The chief of all our host, Having his ears buzzed with his noisy fame, Disdains thy sovereign charge, and in his tent Lies, mocking our designs; with him Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed, breaks scurril jests, And with ridiculous and aukward action, Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, Mimics the Grecian chiefs.

_Agam._ As how, Ulysses?

_Ulys._ Even thee, the king of men, he does not spare, (The monkey author) but thy greatness pageants, And makes of it rehearsals: like a player, Bellowing his passion till he break the spring, And his racked voice jar to his audience; So represents he thee, though more unlike Than Vulcan is to Venus. And at this fulsome stuff,--the wit of apes,-- The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling, From his deep chest roars out a loud applause, Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze.

_Nest._ Nor are you spared, Ulysses; but, as you speak in council, He hems ere he begins, then strokes his beard, Casts down his looks, and winks with half an eye; Has every action, cadence, motion, tone, All of you but the sense.

_Agam._ Fortune was merry When he was born, and played a trick on nature, To make a mimic prince; he ne'er acts ill, But when he would seem wise: For all he says or does, from serious thought, Appears so wretched, that he mocks his title, And is his own buffoon.

_Ulys._ In imitation of this scurril fool, Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles. He keeps a table too, makes factious feasts, Rails on our state of war, and sets Thersites (A slanderous slave of an o'erflowing gall) To level us with low comparisons. They tax our policy with cowardice, Count wisdom of no moment in the war, In brief, esteem no act, but that of hand; The still and thoughtful parts, which move those hands, With them are but the tasks cut out by fear, To be performed by valour.

_Agam._ Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Is more of use than he; but you, grave pair, Like Time and Wisdom marching hand in hand, Must put a stop to these encroaching ills: To you we leave the care; You, who could show whence the distemper springs, Must vindicate the dignity of kings. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_Troy._

_Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ TROILUS.

_Troil._ Why should I fight without the Trojan walls, Who, without fighting, am o'erthrown within? The Trojan who is master of a soul, Let him to battle; Troilus has none.

_Pand._ Will this never be at an end with you?

_Troil._ The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness wary; But I am weaker than a woman's tears, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, And artless as unpractised infancy.

_Pand_ Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part I'll not meddle nor make any further in your love; he, that will eat of the roastmeat, must stay for the kindling of the fire.

_Troil._ Have I not staid?

_Pand._ Ay, the kindling; but you must stay the spitting of the meat.

_Troil._ Have I not staid?

_Pand._ Ay, the spitting; but there's two words to a bargain; you must stay the roasting too.

_Troil._ Still have I staid; and still the farther off.

_Pand._ That's but the roasting, but there's more in this word stay; there's the taking off the spit, the making of the sauce, the dishing, the setting on the table, and saying grace; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your chaps.

_Troil._ At Priam's table pensive do I sit, And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-- (Can she be said to come, who ne'er was absent!)

_Pand._ Well, she's a most ravishing creature; and she looked yesterday most killingly; she had such a stroke with her eyes, she cut to the quick with every glance of them.

_Troil._ I was about to tell thee, when my heart Was ready with a sigh to cleave in two, Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have, with mighty anguish of my soul, Just at the birth, stifled this still-born sigh, And forced my face into a painful smile.

_Pand._ I measured her with my girdle yesterday; she's not half a yard about the waist, but so taper a shape did I never see; but when I had her in my arms, Lord, thought I,--and by my troth I could not forbear sighing,--If prince Troilus had her at this advantage and I were holding of the door!--An she were a thought taller,--but as she is, she wants not an inch of Helen neither; but there's no more comparison between the women--there was wit, there was a sweet tongue! How her words melted in her mouth! Mercury would have been glad to have such a tongue in his mouth, I warrant him. I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did.

_Troil._ Oh Pandarus, when I tell thee I am mad In Cressid's love, thou answer'st she is fair; Praisest her eyes, her stature, and her wit; But praising thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay'st, in every wound her love has given me, The sword that made it.

_Pand._ I give her but her due.

_Troil._ Thou giv'st her not so much.

_Pand._ Faith, I'll speak no more of her, let her be as she is; if she be a beauty, 'tis the better for her; an' she be not, she has the mends in her own hands, for Pandarus.

_Troil._ In spite of me, thou wilt mistake my meaning.

_Pand._ I have had but my labour for my pains; ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, and am ground in the mill-stones for my labour.

_Troil._ What, art thou angry, Pandarus, with thy friend?

_Pand._ Because she's my niece, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; an' she were not my niece, show me such another piece of woman's flesh: take her limb by limb: I say no more, but if Paris had seen her first, Menelaus had been no cuckold: but what care I if she were a blackamoor? what am I the better for her face?

_Troil._ Said I she was not beautiful?

_Pand._ I care not if you did; she's a fool to stay behind her father Calchas: let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her. For my part, I am resolute, I'll meddle no more in your affairs.

_Troil._ But hear me!

_Pand._ Not I.

_Troil._ Dear Pandarus--

_Pand._ Pray speak no more on't; I'll not burn my fingers in another body's business; I'll leave it as I found it, and there's an end. [_Exit._

_Troil._ O gods, how do you torture me! I cannot come to Cressida but by him, And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo, As she is to be won.

_Enter_ ÆNEAS.

_Æneas._ How now, prince Troilus; why not in the battle?

_Troil._ Because not there. This woman's answer suits me, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

_Æn._ Paris is hurt.

_Troil._ By whom?

_Æn._ By Menelaus. Hark what good sport [_Alarm within._ Is out of town to-day! When I hear such music, I cannot hold from dancing.

_Troil._ I'll make one, And try to lose an anxious thought or two In heat of action. Thus, coward-like, from love to war I run, Seek the less dangers, and the greater shun. [_Exit_ TROIL.

_Enter_ CRESSIDA.

_Cres._ My lord Æneas, who were those went by? I mean the ladies.

_Æn._ Queen Hecuba and Helen.

_Cres._ And whither go they?

_Æn._ Up to the western tower, Whose height commands, as subject, all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is fixed like that of heaven, to-day was moved; He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer, And, as there were good husbandry in war. Before the sun was up he went to field; Your pardon, lady, that's my business too. [_Exit_ ÆNEAS.

_Cres._ Hector's a gallant warrior.

_Enter_ PANDARUS.

_Pand._ What's that, what's that?

_Cres._ Good-morrow, uncle Pandarus.

_Pand._ Good-morrow, cousin Cressida. When were you at court?

_Cres._ This morning, uncle.

_Pand._ What were you a talking, when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone ere ye came? Hector was stirring early.

_Cres._ That I was talking of, and of his anger.

_Pand._ Was he angry, say you? true, he was so, and I know the cause. He was struck down yesterday in the battle, but he'll lay about him; he'll cry quittance with them to-day. I'll answer for him. And there's Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.

_Cres._ What, was he struck down too?

_Pand._ Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

_Cres._ Oh Jupiter! there's no comparison! Troilus the better man.

_Pand._ What, no comparison between Hector and Troilus? do you know a man if you see him?

_Cres._ No: for he may look like a man, and not be one.

_Pand._ Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.

_Cres._ That's what I say; for I am sure he is not Hector.

_Pand._ No, nor Hector is not Troilus: make your best of that, niece!

_Cres._ 'Tis true, for each of them is himself.

_Pand._ Himself! alas, poor Troilus! I would he were himself: well, the gods are all-sufficient, and time must mend or end. I would he were himself, and would I were a lady for his sake. I would not answer for my maidenhead.--No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

_Cres._ Excuse me.

_Pand._ Pardon me; Troilus is in the bud, 'tis early day with him; you shall tell me another tale when Troilus is come to bearing; and yet he will not bear neither, in some sense. No, Hector shall never have his virtues.

_Cres._ No matter.

_Pand._ Nor his beauty, nor his fashion, nor his wit; he shall have nothing of him.

_Cres._ They would not become him, his own are better.

_Pand._ How, his own better! you have no judgment, niece; Helen herself swore, the other day, that Troilus, for a manly brown complexion,--for so it is, I must confess--not brown neither.

_Cres._ No, but very brown.

_Pand._ Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Come, I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris: nay, I'm sure she does. She comes me to him the other day, into the bow-window,--and you know Troilus has not above three or four hairs on his chin,--

_Cres._ That's but a bare commendation.

_Pand._ But to prove to you that Helen loves him, she comes, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin.

_Cres._ Has he been fighting then? how came it cloven?

_Pand._ Why, you know it is dimpled. I cannot chuse but laugh, to think how she tickled his cloven chin. She has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess. But let that pass, for I know who has a whiter. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on it, think on it.

_Cres._ So I do, uncle.

_Pand._ I'll be sworn it is true; he will weep ye, an' it were a man born in April. [_A retreat sounded._ Hark, they are returning from the field; shall we stay and see them as they come by, sweet niece? do, sweet niece Cressida.

_Cres._ For once you shall command me.

_Pand._ Here, here, here is an excellent place; we may see them here most bravely, and I'll tell you all their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest; mark Troilus, he's worth your marking.

ÆNEAS _passes over the Stage._

_Cres._ Speak not so loud then.

_Pand._ That's Æneas. Is it not a brave man that? he's a swinger, many a Grecian he has laid with his face upward; but mark Troilus: you shall see anon.

_Enter_ ANTENOR _passing._

That's Antenor; he has a notable head-piece I can tell you, and he's the ablest man for judgment in all Troy; you may turn him loose, i'faith, and by my troth a proper person. When comes Troilus? I'll shew you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

HECTOR _passes over._

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 it not a brave man, niece?

_Cres._ I always told you so.

_Pand._ Is he not? it does a man's heart good to look on him; look you, look you there, what hacks are on his helmet! this was no boy's play, i'faith; he laid it on with a vengeance, take it off who will, as they say! there are hacks, niece!

_Cres._ Were those with swords?

_Pand._ Swords, or bucklers, faulchions, darts, and lances! any thing, he cares not! an' the devil come, it is all one to him: by Jupiter he looks so terribly, that I am half afraid to praise him.

_Enter_ PARIS.

Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris! look ye yonder, niece; is it not a brave young prince too? He draws the best bow in all Troy; he hits you to a span twelve-score level:--who said he came home hurt to-day? why, this will do Helen's heart good now! ha! that I could see Troilus now!

_Enter_ HELENUS.

_Cres._ Who's that black man, uncle?

_Pand._ That is Helenus.--I marvel where Troilus is all this while;--that is Helenus.--I think Troilus went not forth to-day;--that's Helenus.

_Cres._ Can Helenus fight, uncle?

_Pand._ Helenus! No, yes; he'll fight indifferently well.--I marvel in my heart what's become of Troilus:--Hark! do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?--Helenus is a priest, and keeps a whore; he'll fight for his whore, or he's no true priest, I warrant him.

_Enter_ TROILUS _passing over._

_Cres._ What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

_Pand._ Where, yonder? that's Deiphobus: No, I lie. I lie, that's Troilus! there's a man, niece! hem! O brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry, and flower of fidelity!

_Cres._ Peace, for shame, peace!

_Pand._ Nay, but mark him then! O brave Troilus! there's a man of men, niece! look you how his sword is bloody, and his helmet more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw two-and-twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way! had I a sister were a grace, and a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice of them. O admirable man! Paris, Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant, Helen, to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to boot.

_Enter common Soldiers passing over._

_Cres._ Here come more.

_Pand._ Asses, fools, dolts, dirt, and dung, stuff, and lumber, porridge after meat; but I could live and die with Troilus. Ne'er look, niece, ne'er look, the lions are gone: apes and monkeys, the fag end of the creation. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.

_Cres._ There's Achilles among the Greeks, he's a brave man.

_Pand._ Achilles! a carman, a beast of burden; a very camel: have you any eyes, niece? do you know a man? is he to be compared with Troilus?

_Enter Page._

_Page._ Sir, my lord Troilus would instantly speak with you.

_Pand._ Where boy, where?

_Page._ At his own house, if you think convenient.

_Pand._ Good boy, tell him I come instantly: I doubt he's wounded. Farewell, good niece. But I'll be with you by and by.

_Cres._ To bring me, uncle!

_Pand._ Ay, a token from prince Troilus. [_Exit_ PANDAR.

_Cres_. By the same token, you are a procurer, uncle.

CRESSIDA _alone._

A strange dissembling sex we women are: Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive. Long has my secret soul loved Troilus; I drunk his praises from my uncle's mouth, As if my ears could ne'er be satisfied: Why then, why said I not, I love this prince? How could my tongue conspire against my heart, To say I loved him not? O childish love! 'Tis like an infant, froward in his play, And what he most desires, he throws away. [_Exit._