Troilus and Cressida by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 1
Troy. Priam’s palace.
Helen : Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pandarus : You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair
[p]prince, here is
good broken music.
Paris : You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you
[p]shall make it whole
again; you shall piece it out
[p]with a piece of your performance.
Nell, he is full
[p]of harmony.
Pandarus : Truly, lady, no.
Helen : O, sir,--
Pandarus : Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Paris : Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.
Pandarus : I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord,
[p]will you vouchsafe
me a word?
Helen : Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you
[p]sing, certainly.
Pandarus : Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But,
[p]marry, thus, my
lord: my dear lord and most esteemed
[p]friend, your brother
Troilus,--
Helen : My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,--
Pandarus : Go to, sweet queen, to go:--commends himself most
[p]affectionately to
you,--
Helen : You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,
[p]our melancholy
upon your head!
Pandarus : Sweet queen, sweet queen! that's a sweet queen, i' faith.
Helen : And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
Pandarus : Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall not,
[p]in truth, la.
Nay, I care not for such words; no,
[p]no. And, my lord, he desires
you, that if the king
[p]call for him at supper, you will make his
excuse.
Helen : My Lord Pandarus,--
Pandarus : What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
Paris : What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?
Helen : Nay, but, my lord,--
Pandarus : What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out
[p]with you. You
must not know where he sups.
Paris : I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
Pandarus : No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your
[p]disposer is sick.
Paris : Well, I'll make excuse.
Pandarus : Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,
[p]your poor
disposer's sick.
Paris : I spy.
Pandarus : You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an
[p]instrument. Now, sweet
queen.
Helen : Why, this is kindly done.
Pandarus : My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have,
[p]sweet queen.
Helen : She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.
Pandarus : He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.
Helen : Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
Pandarus : Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing
[p]you a song now.
Helen : Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou
[p]hast a fine
forehead.
Pandarus : Ay, you may, you may.
Helen : Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
[p]O Cupid, Cupid,
Cupid!
Pandarus : Love! ay, that it shall, i' faith.
Paris : Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pandarus : In good troth, it begins so.
[p][Sings]
[p]Love, love, nothing but
love, still more!
[p]For, O, love's bow
[p]Shoots buck and doe:
[p]The
shaft confounds,
[p]Not that it wounds,
[p]But tickles still the
sore.
[p]These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!
[p]Yet that which seems
the wound to kill,
[p]Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
[p]So dying
love lives still:
[p]Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
[p]Oh! oh!
groans out for ha! ha! ha!
[p]Heigh-ho!
Helen : In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.
Paris : He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot
[p]blood, and hot
blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
[p]thoughts beget hot deeds, and
hot deeds is love.
Pandarus : Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow
[p]the young Lord
Paris?
Servant : Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pandarus : You depend upon him, I mean?
Servant : Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
Pandarus : You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs
[p]praise him.
Servant : The lord be praised!
Pandarus : You know me, do you not?
Servant : Faith, sir, superficially.
Pandarus : Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.
Servant : I hope I shall know your honour better.
Pandarus : I do desire it.
Servant : You are in the state of grace.
Pandarus : Grace! not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles.
[p][Music
within]
[p]What music is this?
Servant : I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.
Pandarus : Know you the musicians?
Servant : Wholly, sir.
Pandarus : Who play they to?
Servant : To the hearers, sir.
Pandarus : At whose pleasure, friend
Servant : At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
Pandarus : Command, I mean, friend.
Servant : Who shall I command, sir?
Pandarus : Friend, we understand not one another: I am too
[p]courtly and thou
art too cunning. At whose request
[p]do these men play?
Servant : That's to 't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request
[p]of Paris my
lord, who's there in person; with him,
[p]the mortal Venus, the
heart-blood of beauty, love's
[p]invisible soul,--
Pandarus : Who, my cousin Cressida?
Servant : No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her
[p]attributes?
Pandarus : It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the
[p]Lady Cressida.
I come to speak with Paris from the
[p]Prince Troilus: I will make a
complimental assault
[p]upon him, for my business seethes.
Servant : Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed!
Pandarus : Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
[p]company! fair
desires, in all fair measure,
[p]fairly guide them! especially to you,
fair queen!
[p]fair thoughts be your fair pillow!
Pandarus : Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot
[p]thoughts, and hot
deeds? Why, they are vipers:
[p]is love a generation of vipers? Sweet
lord, who's
[p]a-field to-day?
Paris : Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
[p]gallantry of Troy:
I would fain have armed to-day,
[p]but my Nell would not have it so.
How chance my
[p]brother Troilus went not?
Helen : He hangs the lip at something: you know all, Lord Pandarus.
Pandarus : Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they
[p]sped to-day.
You'll remember your brother's excuse?
Paris : To a hair.
Pandarus : Farewell, sweet queen.
Helen : Commend me to your niece.
Pandarus : I will, sweet queen.
Paris : They're come from field: let us to Priam's hall,
[p]To greet the
warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
[p]To help unarm our Hector: his
stubborn buckles,
[p]With these your white enchanting fingers
touch'd,
[p]Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
[p]Or force of
Greekish sinews; you shall do more
[p]Than all the island
kings,--disarm great Hector.
Helen : 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
[p]Yea, what he shall
receive of us in duty
[p]Gives us more palm in beauty than we
have,
[p]Yea, overshines ourself.
Paris : Sweet, above thought I love thee.
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