Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus
Troilus 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.
Pandarus Will this gear ne’er be mended?
Troilus The Greeks are strong and skilful 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 unpractised infancy.
Pandarus 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.
Troilus Have I not tarried?
Pandarus Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
Troilus Have I not tarried?
Pandarus Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.
Troilus Still have I tarried.
Pandarus Ay, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
Troilus 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 —
So, traitor! ‘When she comes!’ When is she thence?
Pandarus Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
Troilus I was about to tell thee:— when my heart,
As 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 couch’d in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
Pandarus 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 —
Troilus O Pandarus! 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.
Pandarus I speak no more than truth.
Troilus Thou dost not speak so much.
Pandarus 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.
Troilus Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!
Pandarus 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.
Troilus What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?
Pandarus 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.
Troilus Say I she is not fair?
Pandarus 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 make no more i’ the matter.
Troilus Pandarus —
Pandarus Not I.
Troilus Sweet Pandarus —
Pandarus Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.
Exit Pandarus. An alarum
Troilus 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 Aeneas
Aeneas How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?
Troilus Because not there: this woman’s answer sorts,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?
Aeneas That Paris is returned home and hurt.
Troilus By whom, Aeneas?
Aeneas Troilus, by Menelaus.
Troilus Let Paris bleed; ’tis but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gored with Menelaus’ horn.
Aeneas Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!
Troilus Better at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’
But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?
Aeneas In all swift haste.
Troilus Come, go we then together.
Enter Cressida and Alexander
Cressida Who were those went by?
Alexander Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cressida And whither go they?
Alexander 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:
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 prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector’s wrath.
Cressida What was his cause of anger?
Alexander The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.
Cressida Good; and what of him?
Alexander They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.
Cressida So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
Alexander 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 everything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
Cressida But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?
Alexander 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.
Cressida Who comes here?
Alexander Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cressida Hector’s a gallant man.
Alexander As may be in the world, lady.
Pandarus What’s that? what’s that?
Cressida Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
Pandarus Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?
Cressida This morning, uncle.
Pandarus What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?
Cressida Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
Pandarus Even so: Hector was stirring early.
Cressida That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pandarus Was he angry?
Cressida So he says here.
Pandarus 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.
Cressida What, is he angry too?
Pandarus Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.
Cressida O Jupiter! there’s no comparison.
Pandarus What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?
Cressida Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.
Pandarus Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.
Cressida Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.
Pandarus No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.
Cressida ’Tis just to each of them; he is himself.
Pandarus Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were.
Cressida So he is.
Pandarus Condition, I had gone barefoot to India.
Cressida He is not Hector.
Pandarus 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.
Cressida Excuse me.
Pandarus He is elder.
Cressida Pardon me, pardon me.
Pandarus 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.
Cressida He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pandarus Nor his qualities.
Cressida No matter.
Pandarus Nor his beauty.
Cressida ’Twould not become him; his own’s better.
Pandarus You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore th’ other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour — for so ’tis, I must confess — not brown neither —
Cressida No, but brown.
Pandarus ’Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cressida To say the truth, true and not true.
Pandarus She praised his complexion above Paris.
Cressida Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pandarus So he has.
Cressida 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.
Pandarus I swear to you. I think Helen loves him better than Paris.
Cressida Then she’s a merry Greek indeed.
Pandarus 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 —
Cressida Indeed, a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.
Pandarus Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.
Cressida Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?
Pandarus But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin —
Cressida Juno have mercy! how came it cloven?
Pandarus Why, you know ’tis dimpled: I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.
Cressida O, he smiles valiantly.
Pandarus Does he not?
Cressida O yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn.
Pandarus Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus —
Cressida Troilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so.
Pandarus Troilus! why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.
Cressida If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i’ the shell.
Pandarus I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin: indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess —
Cressida Without the rack.
Pandarus And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.
Cressida Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.
Pandarus But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laughed that her eyes ran o’er.
Cressida With mill-stones.
Pandarus And Cassandra laughed.
Cressida But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run o’er too?
Pandarus And Hector laughed.
Cressida At what was all this laughing?
Pandarus Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin.
Cressida An’t had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.
Pandarus They laughed not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.
Cressida What was his answer?
Pandarus Quoth she, ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.
Cressida This is her question.
Pandarus 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 forked one,’ quoth he, ‘pluck’t out, and give it him.’ But there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, an Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.
Cressida So let it now; for it has been while going by.
Pandarus Well, cousin. I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t.
Cressida So I do.
Pandarus I’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, an ’twere a man born in April.
Cressida And I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May.
A retreat sounded
Pandarus Hark! they are coming from the field: shall we stand up here, and see them as they pass toward Ilium? good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.
Cressida At your pleasure.
Pandarus 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.
Cressida Speak not so loud.
Pandarus 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.
Cressida Who’s that?
Pandarus That’s Antenor: he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man good enough, he’s one o’ the soundest judgments in 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.
Cressida Will he give you the nod?
Pandarus You shall see.
Cressida If he do, the rich shall have more.
Pandarus 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?
Cressida O, a brave man!
Pandarus 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!
Cressida Be those with swords?
Pandarus Swords! any thing, he cares not; an 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.
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 to-day? 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.
Cressida Who’s that?
Pandarus That’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s
Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That’s Helenus.
Cressida Can Helenus fight, uncle?
Pandarus 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.
Cressida What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
Pandarus Where? yonder? that’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus! there’s a man, niece! Hem! Brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry!
Cressida Peace, for shame, peace!
Pandarus Mark him; note him. O 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! O 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. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.
Cressida Here come more.
Pandarus Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die i’ 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.
Cressida There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.
Pandarus Achilles! a drayman, a porter, a very camel.
Cressida Well, well.
Pandarus ‘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 such like, the spice and salt that season a man?
Cressida Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date in the pie, for then the man’s date’s out.
Pandarus You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you lie.
Cressida 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.
Pandarus Say one of your watches.
Cressida 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.
Pandarus You are such another!
Enter Troilus’s Boy
Boy Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
Boy At your own house; there he unarms him.
Pandarus Good boy, tell him I come.
I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
Cressida Adieu, uncle.
Pandarus I’ll be with you, niece, by and by.
Cressida To bring, uncle?
Pandarus Ay, a token from Troilus.
Cressida 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; joy’s soul lies in the doing.
That she beloved 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.
Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Menelaus, and others
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below
Fails in the promised largeness: cheques and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine and divert 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, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash’d 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 seem 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.
Nestor 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-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus’ horse: where’s then the saucy boat
Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now
Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour’s show and valour’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.
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 stretch’d-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, hatch’d 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.
Agamemnon Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips, than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
We shall hear music, wit and oracle.
Ulysses Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,
But for these instances.
The specialty of rule hath been neglected:
And, 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 centre
Observe degree, priority and place,
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 cheque 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, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked,
Which is the ladder to all high designs,
Then enterprise is sick! 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, sceptres, 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 all this 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. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree it is
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d
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.
Nestor Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d
The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Agamemnon The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?
Ulysses 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 stretch’d 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 a-mending; with terms unsquared,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries ‘Excellent! ’tis Agamemnon just.
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 Valour dies; cries ‘O, 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.
Nestor And in the imitation of these twain —
Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice — many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will’d, 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.
Ulysses They tax our policy, and call it cowardice,
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 those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
Nestor Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse
Makes many Thetis’ sons.
Agamemnon What trumpet? look, Menelaus.
Menelaus From Troy.
Agamemnon What would you ’fore our tent?
Aeneas Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?
Agamemnon Even this.
Aeneas May one, that is a herald and a prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears?
Agamemnon With surety stronger than Achilles’ arm
’Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.
Aeneas Fair leave and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?
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?
Agamemnon This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
Aeneas Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,
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,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends,
That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure, transcends.
Agamemnon Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?
Aeneas Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Agamemnon What’s your affair I pray you?
Aeneas Sir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.
Agamemnon He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.
Aeneas Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Agamemnon 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.
Aeneas Trumpet, blow 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.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call’d 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 fair’st of Greece
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour, 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 to-morrow 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 honour him;
If none, he’ll say in Troy when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
Agamemnon This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas;
If none of them have soul in 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.
Nestor Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector’s grandsire suck’d: he is old now;
But if there be not in our Grecian host
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 wither’d 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.
Aeneas Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!
Agamemnon Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
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.
Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor
Nestor What says Ulysses?
Ulysses I have a young conception in my brain;
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nestor What is’t?
Ulysses This ’tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To overbulk us all.
Nestor Well, and how?
Ulysses This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nestor 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,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose
Pointing on him.
Ulysses And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nestor Yes, ’tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? Though’t be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute
With their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly poised
In this wild 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 us all, a man distill’d
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence the conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Ulysses 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 lustre of the better yet to show,
Shall show the better. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
Nestor I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulysses What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
A nd we were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he ’scape Hector fair: if he were foil’d,
Why then, we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon
Who broils in loud applause, and 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 employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it 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.
Last updated Monday, December 22, 2014 at 10:54