Enter Pandarus and Cressida
Be moderate, be moderate.
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong
sense (n.) 2
ability to respond to sensation, physical perception
As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief.
My love admits no qualifying dross;
impure matter, tainted substance, rubbish
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
O Troilus! Troilus!
What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me
embrace too. ‘ O heart,’ as the goodly saying is –
‘ – O heart, heavy heart,
Why sigh'st thou without breaking?’
where he answers again:
‘ Because thou canst not ease thy smart
By friendship nor by speaking.’
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse.
We see it, we see it, – How now, lambs!
Cressid, I love thee in so strained a purity
That the blest gods, as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
Have the gods envy?
Ay, ay, ay, ay, 'tis too plain a case.
And is it true that I must go from Troy?
A hateful truth.
What, and from Troilus too?
From Troy and Troilus.
And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, jostles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our locked embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath:
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's haste,
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how;
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
And scants us with a single famished kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
My lord, is the lady ready?
Hark, you are called: some say the Genius so
Cries ‘ Come!’ to him that instantly must die. –
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind,
or my heart will be blown up by the root.
I must, then, to the Grecians?
A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?
Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart –
I true? How now, what wicked deem is this?
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us.
I speak not ‘ be thou true ’ as fearing thee;
For I will throw my glove to Death himself
That there's no maculation in thy heart.
But ‘ be thou true,’ say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation: be thou true,
And I will see thee.
O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent; but I'll be true!
And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
And you this glove. When shall I see you?
I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee nightly visitation –
But yet, be true.
O heavens! ‘ Be true ’ again?
Hear why I speak it, love.
The Grecian youths are full of quality;
Their loving well composed with gifts of nature,
And flowing o'er with arts and exercise.
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
part (n.) 1
quality, attribute, gift, accomplishment [of mind or body]
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy –
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin –
Makes me afraid.
O heavens, you love me not!
Die I a villain then!
In this I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games – fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;
But I can tell that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.
Do you think I will?
But something may be done that we will not;
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
Nay, good my lord –
Come, kiss, and let us part.
Good brother, come you hither,
And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.
My lord, will you be true?
Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault:
Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
crown (n.) 1
type of coin [usually bearing the imprint of a monarch's crown]
See Topics: Money
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
Is ‘ plain and true;’ there's all the reach of it.
Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and
Welcome, Sir Diomed; here is the lady
Which for Antenor we deliver you.
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand,
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair, and by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilium.
Fair Lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects.
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
Pleads your fair usage, and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.
Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee
ardour, fervour; or: loyalty, devotion
In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises
As thou unworthy to be called her servant.
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I'll cut thy throat.
O, be not moved, Prince Troilus;
Let me be privileged by my place and message
To be a speaker free. When I am hence,
I'll answer to my lust, and know, my lord,
I'll nothing do on charge. To her own worth
She shall be prized; but that you say ‘ Be't so,’
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour: ‘ No.’
Come, to the port. – I'll tell thee, Diomed,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
Exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomedes
Hark! Hector's trumpet!
How have we spent this morning!
The prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That swore to ride before him to the field.
‘Tis Troilus' fault; come, come, to field with him.
Let us make ready straight.
Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels.
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth and single chivalry.