SCENE I. Troy. Priam’s palace.
Enter a Servant and PANDARUS
Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow
the young Lord Paris?
Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
You depend upon him, I mean?
Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs
The lord be praised!
You know me, do you not?
Faith, sir, superficially.
Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.
I hope I shall know your honour better.
I do desire it.
You are in the state of grace.
Grace! not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles.
Music withinWhat music is this?
I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.
Know you the musicians?
Who play they to?
To the hearers, sir.
At whose pleasure, friend
At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
Command, I mean, friend.
Who shall I command, sir?
Friend, we understand not one another: I am too
courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request
do these men play?
That’s to ‘t indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request
of Paris my lord, who’s there in person; with him,
the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love’s
Who, my cousin Cressida?
No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her
It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the
Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the
Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault
upon him, for my business seethes.
Sodden business! there’s a stewed phrase indeed!
Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended
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!
Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair
prince, here is good broken music.
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
Truly, lady, no.
Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.
I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord,
will you vouchsafe me a word?
Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we’ll hear you
Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But,
marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed
friend, your brother Troilus,–
My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,–
Go to, sweet queen, to go:–commends himself most
affectionately to you,–
You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,
our melancholy upon your head!
Sweet queen, sweet queen! that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.
And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall 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.
My Lord Pandarus,–
What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
What exploit’s in hand? where sups he to-night?
Nay, but, my lord,–
What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out
with you. You must not know where he sups.
I’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your
disposer is sick.
Well, I’ll make excuse.
Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,
your poor disposer’s sick.
You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an
instrument. Now, sweet queen.
Why, this is kindly done.
My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have,
She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.
He! no, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.
Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
Come, come, I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing
you a song now.
Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou
hast a fine forehead.
Ay, you may, you may.
Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Love! ay, that it shall, i’ faith.
Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
In good troth, it begins so.
SingsLove, 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!
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!
In love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.
He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot
blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.
Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot
thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers:
is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s
Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed to-day,
but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my
brother Troilus went not?
He hangs the lip at something: you know all, Lord Pandarus.
Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they
sped to-day. You’ll remember your brother’s excuse?
To a hair.
Farewell, sweet queen.
Commend me to your niece.
I will, sweet queen.
A retreat sounded
They’re come from field: let us to Priam’s hall,
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
With these your white enchanting fingers touch’d,
Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
Than all the island kings,–disarm great Hector.
‘Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, overshines ourself.
Sweet, above thought I love thee.