IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge come 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; HELEN, Wife to Menelaus. ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector! CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a Prophetess. ALEXANDER, Cressida's Servant. Boy, Page to Troilus. Servant to Diomed. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other Attendants. SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it. CALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again: Tro. 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; 10 Pan. Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Troi. Have I not tarry'd Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting. Troi. Have I not tarry'd? 20 Pan. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leavening. Troi. Still have I tarry'd. Pan. 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 stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. must Troi. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 30 And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,- I saw her look; or any woman else. Troi. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, 40 Pan. 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 Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep 50 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me Pan. I speak no more than truth. Troi. 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. 79 Troi. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? thought |