Chapter 5
_Par_. There is no help; The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.
_Æne_. Good morrow, all. Exit with servant
_Par_. 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?
_Diom_. 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 defend her, 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.
_Par_. You are too bitter to your country-woman.
_Diom_. 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 Troian hath been slain; since she could speak, She hath not given so many good words breath As for her Greeks and Troians suff’red death.
_Par_. 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
Enter Troylus and _Creſſid_
_Troy_. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
_Cre_. Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down; He shall unbolt the gates.
_Troy_. 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!
_Cre_. Good morrow, then.
_Troy_. I prithee now, to bed.
_Cre_. Are you aweary of me?
_Troy_. 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.
_Cre_. Night hath been too brief.
_Troy_. 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.
_Cre_. 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.
_Pan_. [Within] What’s all the doors open here?
_Troy_. It is your uncle.
Enter Pandarus
_Cre_. A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking. I shall have such a life!
_Pan_. How now, how now! How go maidenheads? Here, you maid! Where’s my cousin Creſſid?
_Cre_. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
_Pan_. To do what? to do what? Let her say what. What have I brought you to do?
_Cre_. Come, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good,
Nor suffer others.
_Pan_. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchia! hast not slept to-night? Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!
_Cre_. Did not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head! [One knocks] Who’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see. My lord, come you again into my chamber. You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
_Troy_. Ha! ha!
_Cre_. Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing. [Knock] How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: I would not for half Troy have you seen here. Exeunt Troylus and _Creſſid_
_Pan_. Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? What’s the matter?
Enter Æneas
_Æne_. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
_Pan_. Who’s there? My lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not. What news with you so early?
_Æne_. Is not Prince Troylus here?
_Pan_. Here! What should he do here?
_Æne_. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.
_Pan_. Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?
_Æne_. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.
Re-enter Troylus
_Troy_. How now! What’s the matter?
_Æne_. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes’ hand The Lady Creſſida.
_Troy_. Is it so concluded?
_Æne_. By Priam, and the general state of Troy. They are at hand and ready to effect it.
_Troy_. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here.
_Æne_. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity. Exeunt Troylus and Æneas
_Pan_. Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke’s neck.
Re-enter _Creſſid_
_Cre_. How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?
_Pan_. Ah, ah!
_Cre_. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?
_Pan_. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!
_Cre_. O the gods! What’s the matter?
_Pan_. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
_Cre_. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the matter?
_Pan_. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troylus. ’Twill be his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
_Cre_. O you immortal gods! I will not go.
_Pan_. Thou must.
_Cre_. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; I know no touch of consanguinity, No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me As the sweet Troylus. O you gods divine, Make Creſſid’s name the very crown of falsehood, If ever she leave Troylus! Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can, But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep-
_Pan_. Do, do.
_Cre_. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, With sounding ‘Troylus.’ I will not go from Troy. Exeunt
Enter Paris, Troylus, Æneas, Diephœbus, Antenor, and Diomedes
_Par_. It is great morning; and the hour prefix’d For her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troylus, Tell you the lady what she is to do And haste her to the purpose.
_Troy_. Walk into her house. I’ll bring her to the Grecian presently; And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar, and thy brother Troylus A priest, there off’ring to it his own heart. Exit
_Par_. I know what ’tis to love, And would, as I shall pity, I could help! Please you walk in, my lords. Exeunt
Enter Pandarus and _Creſſid_
_Pan_. Be moderate, be moderate.
_Cre_. Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affections Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief. My love admits no qualifying dross; No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Enter Troylus
_Pan_. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
_Cre_. O Troylus! Troylus! [Embracing him]
_Pan_. 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!
_Troy_. Creſſid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity That the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
_Cre_. Have the gods envy?
_Pan_. Ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.
_Cre_. And is it true that I must go from Troy?
_Troy_. A hateful truth.
_Cre_. What, and from Troylus too?
_Troy_. From Troy and Troylus.
_Cre_. Is’t possible?
_Troy_. And suddenly; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock’d 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 consign’d kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu, And scants us with a single famish’d kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
_Æne_. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready?
_Troy_. Hark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius so Cries ‘Come’ to him that instantly must die. Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
_Pan_. Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by th’ root? Exit
_Cre_. I must then to the Grecians?
_Troy_. No remedy.
_Cre_. A woeful Creſſid ’mongst the merry Greeks! When shall we see again?
_Troy_. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart-
_Cre_. I true! how now! What wicked deem is this?
_Troy_. 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.
_Cre_. O, you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.
_Troy_. And I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
_Cre_. And you this glove. When shall I see you?
_Troy_. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels To give thee nightly visitation. But yet be true.
_Cre_. O heavens! ‘Be true’ again!
_Troy_. Hear why I speak it, love. The Grecian youths are full of quality; They’re loving, well compos’d with gifts of nature, And flowing o’er with arts and exercise. How novelties may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy, Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin, Makes me afeard.
_Cre_. O heavens! you love me not.
_Troy_. 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.
_Cre_. Do you think I will?
_Troy_. No. 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.
_Æne_. [Within] Nay, good my lord!
_Troy_. Come, kiss; and let us part.
_Par_. [Within] Brother Troylus!
_Troy_. Good brother, come you hither; And bring Æneas and the Grecian with you.
_Cre_. My lord, will you be true?
_Troy_. 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, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor, Diephœbus, and Diomedes
Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit Is ‘plain and true’; there’s all the reach of it. 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 Ilion.
_Diom_. 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.
_Troy_. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously To shame the zeal of my petition to the In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, She is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises As thou unworthy to be call’d 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.
_Diom_. O, be not mov’d, Prince Troylus. Let me be privileg’d by my place and message To be a speaker free: when I am hence I’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, I’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth She shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’ I speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’
_Troy_. 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 Troylus, _Creſſid_, and Diomedes [Sound trumpet]
_Par_. Hark! Hector’s trumpet.
_Æne_. How have we spent this morning! The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field.
_Par_. ’Tis Troylus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.
_Dieph_. Let us make ready straight.
_Æne_. 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. Exeunt
Enter Aiax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Vlyſſes, Nestor, and others
_Agam_. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, Anticipating time with starting courage. Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, Thou dreadful Aiax, that the appalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant, And hale him hither.
_Aiax_. Thou, trumpet, there’s my purse. Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Out-swell the colic of puff Aquilon’d. Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: Thou blowest for Hector. [Trumpet sounds]
_Vlyſ_. No trumpet answers.
_Achil_. ’Tis but early days.
Enter Diomedes, with _Creſſid_
_Agam_. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?
_Vlyſ_. ’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait: He rises on the toe. That spirit of his In aspiration lifts him from the earth.
_Agam_. Is this the lady Creſſid?
_Diom_. Even she.
_Agam_. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.
_Nestor_. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.
_Vlyſ_. Yet is the kindness but particular; ’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.
_Nestor_. And very courtly counsel: I’ll begin. So much for Nestor.
_Achil_. I’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady. Achilles bids you welcome.
_Men_. I had good argument for kissing once.
_Patr_. But that’s no argument for kissing now; For thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment, And parted thus you and your argument.
_Vlyſ_. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns! For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.
_Patr_. The first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine- [Kisses her again] Patroclus kisses you.
_Men_. O, this is trim!
_Patr_. Paris and I kiss evermore for him.
_Men_. I’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.
_Cre_. In kissing, do you render or receive?
_Patr_. Both take and give.
_Cre_. I’ll make my match to live, The kiss you take is better than you give; Therefore no kiss.
_Men_. I’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.
_Cre_. You are an odd man; give even or give none.
_Men_. An odd man, lady? Every man is odd.
_Cre_. No, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true That you are odd, and he is even with you.
_Men_. You fillip me o’ th’ head.
_Cre_. No, I’ll be sworn.
_Vlyſ_. It were no match, your nail against his horn. May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
_Cre_. You may.
_Vlyſ_. I do desire it.
_Cre_. Why, beg then.
_Vlyſ_. Why then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss When Helen is a maid again, and his.
_Cre_. I am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.
_Vlyſ_. Never’s my day, and then a kiss of you.
_Diom_. Lady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father. Exit with _Creſſid_
_Nestor_. A woman of quick sense.
_Vlyſ_. Fie, fie upon her! There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. O these encounters so glib of tongue That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader! Set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity, And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within]
_All_. The Troians trumpet.
Enter Hector, armed; Æneas, Troylus, Paris, Hellenus, and other Trojans, with attendants
_Agam_. Yonder comes the troop.
_Æne_. Hail, all the state of Greece! What shall be done To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose A victor shall be known? Will you the knights Shall to the edge of all extremity Pursue each other, or shall they be divided By any voice or order of the field? Hector bade ask.
_Agam_. Which way would Hector have it?
_Æne_. He cares not; he’ll obey conditions.
_Achil_. ’Tis done like Hector; but securely done, A little proudly, and great deal misprizing The knight oppos’d.
_Æne_. If not Achilles, sir, What is your name?
_Achil_. If not Achilles, nothing.
_Æne_. Therefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this: In the extremity of great and little Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; The one almost as infinite as all, The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, And that which looks like pride is courtesy. This Aiax is half made of Hector’s blood; In love whereof half Hector stays at home; Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Troian and half Greek.
_Achil_. A maiden battle then? O, I perceive you!
Re-enter Diomedes
_Agam_. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight, Stand by our Aiax. As you and Lord ]Eneas Consent upon the order of their fight, So be it; either to the uttermost, Or else a breath. The combatants being kin Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. [Aiax and Hector enter the lists]
_Vlyſ_. They are oppos’d already.
_Agam_. What Troian is that same that looks so heavy?
_Vlyſ_. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue; Not soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d; His heart and hand both open and both free; For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows, Yet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath; Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes To tender objects, but he in heat of action Is more vindicative than jealous love. They call him Troylus, and on him erect A second hope as fairly built as Hector. Thus says Æneas, one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and, with private soul, Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. [Alarum. Hector and Aiax fight]
_Agam_. They are in action.
_Nestor_. Now, Aiax, hold thine own!
_Troy_. Hector, thou sleep’st; Awake thee.
_Agam_. His blows are well dispos’d. There, Aiax! [Trumpets cease]
_Diom_. You must no more.
_Æne_. Princes, enough, so please you.
_Aiax_. I am not warm yet; let us fight again.
_Diom_. As Hector pleases.
_Hect_. Why, then will I no more. Thou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son, A cousin-german to great Priam’s seed; The obligation of our blood forbids A gory emulation ’twixt us twain: Were thy commixtion Greek and Troian so That thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all, And this is Troian; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister Bounds in my father’s’; by Jove multipotent, Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member Wherein my sword had not impressure made Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay That any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Aiax. By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; Hector would have them fall upon him thus. Cousin, all honour to thee!
_Aiax_. I thank thee, Hector. Thou art too gentle and too free a man. I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence A great addition earned in thy death.
_Hect_. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, On whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes Cries ‘This is he’ could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
_Æne_. There is expectance here from both the sides What further you will do.
_Hect_. We’ll answer it: The issue is embracement. Aiax, farewell.
_Aiax_. If I might in entreaties find success, As seld I have the chance, I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
_Diom_. ’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.
_Hect_. Æneas, call my brother Troylus to me, And signify this loving interview To the expecters of our Troian part; Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.
Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward
_Aiax_. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
_Hect_. The worthiest of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size.
_Agam_. Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy. But that’s no welcome. Understand more clear, What’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks And formless ruin of oblivion; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
_Hect_. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.
_Agam_. [To Troylus] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.
_Men_. Let me confirm my princely brother’s greeting. You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
_Hect_. Who must we answer?
_Æne_. The noble Menelaus.
_Hect_. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Mock not that I affect the untraded oath; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove. She’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.
_Men_. Name her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.
_Hect_. O, pardon; I offend.
_Nestor_. I have, thou gallant Troian, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’ air, Not letting it decline on the declined; That I have said to some my standers-by ‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’ And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm’d thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him. He was a soldier good, But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee; And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
_Æne_. ’Tis the old Nestor.
_Hect_. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time. Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
_Nestor_. I would my arms could match thee in contention As they contend with thee in courtesy.
_Hect_. I would they could.
_Nestor_. Ha! By this white beard, I’d fight with thee to-morrow. Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.
_Vlyſ_. I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here her base and pillar by us.
_Hect_. I know your favour, Lord Vlyſſes, well. Ah, sir, there’s many a Greek and Troian dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion on your Greekish embassy.