ACT THIRD

SCENE I

Troy. A room in Priam's palace.

Enter Pandarus and a Servant.

Pan. Friend, you, pray you, a word: do you not
follow the young Lord Paris?
Serv. Aye, sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You depend upon him, I mean?

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.
Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman; I

must needs praise him.

Serv. The Lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. Faith, sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the Lord
Pandarus.

Serv. I hope I shall know your honor better.
Pan. I do desire it.

Serv. You are in the state of grace.

Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honor and lordship are my titles. [Music within.] What music is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

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20

Serv. Wholly, sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another:

I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. 30
At whose request do these men play?

Serv. That's to 't, indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the
request of Paris my lord, who is there in
person; with him, the mortal Venus, the
heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul.
Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?

Serv. No, sir, Helen: could not you find out that by her attributes?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to 40 speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.

Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed!

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

44. "sodden" alluding to the cure of the French disease. Hence the equivoque in “stewed.”—C. H. H.

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 50 Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet

queen. Fair prince, here is good broken

music.

Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir,

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. 60 Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in

fits.

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen.
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?
Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll
hear you sing, certainly.
Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with
me. But, marry, thus, my lord: my dear
lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother

Troilus-
Helen. My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,—
Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to:-commends
himself most affectionately to you-
Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody:

if you do, our melancholy upon your head! Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offense.

70

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that 80 shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not

for such words; no, no. And, my lord, he
desires you, that if the king call for him at
supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus,———

Pan. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?

Helen. Nay, but, my lord,

Pan. What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out with you.

where he sups.

You must not know

Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

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Pan. Aye, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick. 100 Par. I spy.

Pan. You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

Pan. He! no, she 'll none of him; they two are twain.

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make

them three.

110

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this;

I'd sing you a song now.

Helen. Aye, aye, prithee now.

By my troth,

sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Aye, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Pan. Love! aye, that it shall, i̇' faith.

Par. Aye, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

Pan. In good troth, it begins so.

120

[Sings.

Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, O, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds,
Not that it wounds,

But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die:

130

Yet that which seems the wound to kill,

Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still:

Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
Heigh-ho!

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the

nose.

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot 140 thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

124. The reading of Ff.; omitted in Q.-I. G.

131. "the wound to kill"; a mortal wound.-C. H. H.