TROILUS & CRESSIDA. William Shakespeare
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Witness the process of your speech, wherein
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
Did haunt you in the field.
AENEAS.
Health to you, valiant sir,
During all question of the gentle truce;
But when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance
As heart can think or courage execute.
DIOMEDES.
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.
AENEAS.
And thou shalt hunt a 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.
DIOMEDES.
We sympathise. 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 honour let him die
With every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!
AENEAS.
We know each other well.
DIOMEDES.
We do; and long to know each other worse.
PARIS.
This is the most despiteful’st gentle greeting
The noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early?
AENEAS.
I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.
PARIS.
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.
AENEAS.
That I assure you:
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
PARIS.
There is no help;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.
AENEAS.
Good morrow, all.
[Exit with servant.]
PARIS.
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?
DIOMEDES.
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 d
Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
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 pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.
Both merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.
PARIS.
You are too bitter to your countrywoman.
DIOMEDES.
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 Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath
As for her Greeks and Troyans suff’red death.
PARIS.
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.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE 2. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house
[Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA.]
TROILUS.
Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
CRESSIDA.
Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
TROILUS.
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!
CRESSIDA.
Good morrow, then.
TROILUS.
I prithee now, to bed.
CRESSIDA.
Are you aweary of me?
TROILUS.
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.
CRESSIDA.
Night hath been too brief.
TROILUS.
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.
CRESSIDA.
Prithee tarry.
You men will never tarry.
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.
PANDARUS.