But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 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 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice: Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seisure me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her; Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me The knife that made it. 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.1 Troi. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labor for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labor. Troi. 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 a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. Troi. 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 for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter. Troi. Pandarus, Pan. Not I. Troi. Sweet Pandarus, Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I wil leave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit Pandarus. An alarum. i.e. she may make the best of a bad bargain.' Steevens. Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamors! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, It is too starved a subject for my sword. Alarum. Enter ENEAS. En. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? Troi. Because not there: this woman's answer sorts; For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? En. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. En. Troilus, by Menelaus. Suits. |