Right Honourable,

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to

your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so

strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem

but pleased, I account my self highly praised, and vow to take

advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver

labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I

shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so

barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it

to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content;

which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's

hopeful expectations.

Your honour's in all duty,

William Shakespeare

Even as the sun with purple-coloured face

Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;

Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.

Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,

And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,

'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,

Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,

More white and red than doves or roses are;

Nature that made thee with herself at strife

Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,

And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;

If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed

A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.

Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,

And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed saiety,

But rather famish them amid their plenty,

Making them red and pale with fresh variety;

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.

A summer's day will seem an hour but short,

Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,

The precedent of pith and livelihood,

And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,

Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good.

Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force

Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,

Under her other was the tender boy,

Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,

He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough

Nimbly she fastens- O, how quick is love!

The steed is stalled up, and even now

To tie the rider she begins to prove.

Backward she pushed him, as she would be thrust,

And governed him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,

Each leaning on their elbows and their hips;

Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,

And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,

And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,

'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears

Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs

To fan and blow them dry again she seeks.

He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;

What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,

Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,

Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,

Till either gorge be stuffed or prey be gone;

Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,

And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.

Affection is a coal that must be cooled;

Else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,

Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,

Servilely mastered with a leathern rein!

But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,

He held such petty bondage in disdain,

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,

Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,

Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,

But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,

His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint that dares not be so bold

To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;'

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,

To take advantage on presented joy;

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.

O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,

And once made perfect, never lost again.'

'I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,

Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it.

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it.

My love to love is love but to disgrace it;

For I have heard it is a life in death,

That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinished?

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?

If springing things be any jot diminished,

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.

The colt that's backed and burdened being young

Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,

And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat;

Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;

To love's alarms it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt'ry;

For where a heart is hard they make no batt'ry.'

'What, canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?

O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!

Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;

I had my load before, now pressed with bearing:

Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding,

Ears' deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love

That inward beauty and invisible;

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move

Each part in me that were but sensible.

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,

Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,

And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,

And nothing but the very smell were left me,

Yet would my love to thee be still as much;

For from the stillitory of thy face excelling

Comes breath perfumed, that breedeth love by smelling.

'But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,

Being nurse and feeder of the other four!

Would they not wish the feast might ever last,

And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,

Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,

Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-coloured portal opened,

Which to his speech did honey passage yield;

Like a red morn, that ever yet betokened

Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,

Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,

Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh.

Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth,

Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,

Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,

Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,

His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,

For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth;

A smile recures the wounding of a frown.

But blessed bankrupt that by loss so thriveth!

The silly boy, believing she is dead,

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,

For sharply he did think to reprehend her,

Which cunning love did wittily prevent.

Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!

For on the grass she lies as she were slain,

Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,

He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,

He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks

To mend the hurt that his unkindness marred;

He kisses her; and she, by her good will,

Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turned to day:

Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth,

Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array

He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth;

And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,

So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed,

As if from thence they borrowed all their shine.

Were never four such lamps together mixed,

Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,

Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

Forced to content, but never to obey,

Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;

She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,

And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,




DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia

VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen

PROTEUS, " " " " "

ANTONIO, father to Proteus

THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine

EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape

SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine

LAUNCE, the like to Proteus

PANTHINO, servant to Antonio

HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan

OUTLAWS, with Valentine

JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus

SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine

LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia




Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua


Verona. An open place


VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Were't not affection chains thy tender days

To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,

I rather would entreat thy company

To see the wonders of the world abroad,

Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,

Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,

Even as I would, when I to love begin.

PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!

Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest

Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.

Wish me partaker in thy happiness

When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,

If ever danger do environ thee,

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.

VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?

PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love:

How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love;

For he was more than over shoes in love.

VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,

And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.

VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.


VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,

Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth

With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;

If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;

If lost, why then a grievous labour won;

However, but a folly bought with wit,

Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.

VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;

And he that is so yoked by a fool,

Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud

The eating canker dwells, so eating love

Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud

Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

Even so by love the young and tender wit

Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,

Losing his verdure even in the prime,

And all the fair effects of future hopes.

But wherefore waste I time to counsel the

That art a votary to fond desire?

Once more adieu. My father at the road

Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.

To Milan let me hear from thee by letters

Of thy success in love, and what news else

Betideth here in absence of thy friend;

And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!


PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;

He leaves his friends to dignify them more:

I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.

Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me,

Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,

War with good counsel, set the world at nought;

Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.


SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.

SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,

And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,

An if the shepherd be awhile away.

SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and

I a sheep?


SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.

PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.

SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the

shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;

therefore, I am no sheep.

PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for

food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;

thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a


SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia?

SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd

mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing

for my labour.

PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her.

PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you.

SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your


PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.

SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,

'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.

PROTEUS. But what said she?

SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.

PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.'

SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she

did nod; and I say 'Ay.'

PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.'

SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for

your pains.

PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the

word 'noddy' for my pains.

PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?

SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both

at once delivered.

PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so

much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to

me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in

telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as

hard as steel.

PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?

SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify

your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital

whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,

I'll commend you to my master.

PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,

Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,

Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED

I must go send some better messenger.

I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,

Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit




ORSINO, Duke of Illyria

SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola

ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian

A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola

VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke

CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke

SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia


MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia

FABIAN, servant to Olivia

FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia

OLIVIA, a rich countess

VIOLA, sister of Sebastian

MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants


A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it


The DUKE'S palace

Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS;

MUSICIANS attending

DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken and so die.

That strain again! It had a dying fall;

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price

Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,

That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?

DUKE. What, Curio?

CURIO. The hart.

DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!

That instant was I turn'd into a hart,

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,

E'er since pursue me.


How now! what news from her?

VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,

But from her handmaid do return this answer:

The element itself, till seven years' heat,

Shall not behold her face at ample view;

But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,

And water once a day her chamber round

With eye-offending brine; all this to season

A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh

And lasting in her sad remembrance.

DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

To pay this debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love when the rich golden shaft

Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else

That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,

Her sweet perfections, with one self king!

Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.



The sea-coast


VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?

CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?

CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and those poor number saved with you,

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself-

Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-

To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves

So long as I could see.

VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born

Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA. Who governs here?

CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA. What is his name?

CAPTAIN. Orsino.

VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.

He was a bachelor then.

CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;

For but a month ago I went from hence,

And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,

What great ones do the less will prattle of-

That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA. What's she?

CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,

They say, she hath abjur'd the company

And sight of men.

VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,

And might not be delivered to the world,

Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is!

CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,

Because she will admit no kind of suit-

No, not the Duke's.

VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;

And though that nature with a beauteous wall

Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe thou hast a mind that suits

With this thy fair and outward character.

I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid

For such disguise as haply shall become

The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:

Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;

It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing

And speak to him in many sorts of music,

That will allow me very worth his service.

What else may hap to time I will commit;

Only shape thou silence to my wit.

CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt


OLIVIA'S house



PRIAM, King of Troy

His sons:






MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam

Trojan commanders:



CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks

PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida

AGAMEMNON, the Greek general

MENELAUS, his brother

Greek commanders:







THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek

ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida

SERVANT to Troilus

SERVANT to Paris

SERVANT to Diomedes

HELEN, wife to Menelaus

ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector

CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess

CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants


Troy and the Greek camp before it




In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

The princes orgillous, 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 th' 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 war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch

Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,

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, Troyan 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 o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,

Beginning 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.


Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace

Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS

TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again.

Why should I war without the walls of Troy

That find such cruel battle here within?

Each Troyan that is master of his heart,

Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none!

PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended?

TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;

But I am weaker than a woman's tear,

Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,

Less valiant than the virgin in the night,

And skilless as unpractis'd infancy.

PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part,

I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake

out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

TROILUS. Still have I tarried.

PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word

'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating

of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too,

or you may chance to burn your lips.

TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,

Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-

So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence.

PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her

look, or any woman else.

TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,

As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,

Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,

I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,

Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.

But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness

Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

PANDARUS. 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-

TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-

When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd,

Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad

In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'-

Pourest 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 hath given me

The knife that made it.

PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.

TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.

PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. 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.

TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!

PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of

her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but

small thanks for my labour.

TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?

PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as

Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday

as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a

blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.

TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?

PANDARUS. 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. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no

more i' th' matter.

TROILUS. Pandarus!


TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus!

PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all

as I found it, and there an end. Exit. Sound alarum

TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,

When with your blood you daily paint her thus.

I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!

I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;

And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo

As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.

Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,

What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?

Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;

Between our Ilium and where she resides

Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;

Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar

Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter AENEAS

AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?

TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,

For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?

AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?

AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.

TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum]

AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town to-day!

TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'

But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?

AENEAS. In all swift haste.

TROILUS. Come, go we then together. Exeunt