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TROILUS

AND

CRESSIDA.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
PRIAM, king of Troy :
HECTOR,
TROILUS,
PARIS,

his sons.
DEIPHOBUS,
HELENUS,
ANEAS,

Trojan commanders.
ANTENOR,
CALCHAS, & Trojan priest, taking part with the

Greeks.
PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida.
MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam.
AGAMEMNON, the Grecian general :
MENELAUS, his brother.
ACHILLES,
AJAX,
ULYSSES,
NESTOR,

Grecian commanders.
DIOMEDES,
PATROCLUS,
THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilons Grecian.
ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida.
Servant to Trollus; Servant to Paris; Servant to

Diomedes.
HELEN, wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector.
CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam; 8
CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
Scene, - Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

PROLOGUE
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chal'a,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Theit warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions : Priam's

six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard :- And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd, - but not in confidence
of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited
In like conditions as our argument -
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps d'er the vannt and firstlings of those broils,
Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.

Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are ;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

[graphic]

prophetess.

IDA.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

PROLOGUE.
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard :-Ánd hither am I come
A prologue arm'd, - but not in confidence
of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are ;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

[graphic]

Sc. 1. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 265
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turbs to sudden sadness.

Pas. 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 terra
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

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus -
When I do tell thee, 'There my hopes lie drowia,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'a. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: Thou answerst, 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 whore soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of vense
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tellist
As true thou tellist me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love bath given me,
The knife, that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. '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

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus?
Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-
thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone
between and between, but small thanks for my
labour.
Tro. What, art thote angry, Pandarus? what,

with me!
Pan. Because she is 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 1? I care not, an she were
a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.
Tro. Say 1, she is not fait ?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's
2 fool to stay behind her father; let her to the
Greeks; and 20 1'11 tell her the next time I see het.

#

But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. 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

Tro. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus,
When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown's,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd.

"Y

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 bath given me,
The knife, that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. '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.
Tro. Good Pandarus! How Dow, Pandarus ?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-
thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone
between and between, but small thanks for my
labour.
Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what,

with me!
Pan. Because she is 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
& black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say I, she is not fair ?

Pan. 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:

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