CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks. PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida. MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam. THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to Tiometes. HELEN, wife to Menelaus. ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector. CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam; a prophetess. CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek Soldiers and Attendants. SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian camp before it. PROLOGUE. in Troy, there lies the scene. 1 From isles of Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge છુ Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, Of author's pen or actor's voice; but suited To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 1 i. e. the avant, what went before. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT I. SCENE I. Troy. Before Priam's palace. Enter TROILUS armed, and pandarus. 1 Troi. 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 Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. Pan. Will this geer 2 ne'er be mended? Troi. 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 3 than ignorance; Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for 1 Servant. 2 Habit. 3 More foolish. my part, I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Troi. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Troi. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Troi. Still have I tarried. 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 must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. Troi. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench1 at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,- thence ? Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Troi. I was about to tell thee,-when my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive 2 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: |