1    Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again:
2    Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
3    That find such cruel battle here within?
4    Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
5    Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

6    Will this gear ne'er be mended?

7    The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength,
8    Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant;
9    But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
10   Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
11   Less valiant than the virgin in the night
12   And skilless as unpractised infancy.

13   Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part,
14   I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will
15   have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

16   Have I not tarried?

17   Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
18   the bolting.

19   Have I not tarried?

20   Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.

21   Still have I tarried.

22   Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
23   'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the
24   heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must
25   stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

26   Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
27   Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
28   At Priam's royal table do I sit;
29   And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,--
30   So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she thence?

31   Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw
32   her look, or any woman else.

33   I was about to tell thee:--when my heart,
34   As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
35   Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
36   I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
37   Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
38   But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
39   Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

40   An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's--
41   well, go to--there were no more comparison between
42   the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I
43   would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would
44   somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
45   will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but--

46   O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,--
47   When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
48   Reply not in how many fathoms deep
49   They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
50   In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'
51   Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
52   Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
53   Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
54   In whose comparison all whites are ink,
55   Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
56   The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
57   Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,
58   As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
59   But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
60   Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
61   The knife that made it.

62   I speak no more than truth.

63   Thou dost not speak so much.

64   Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:
65   if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be
66   not, she has the mends in her own hands.

67   Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!

68   I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of
69   her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and
70   between, but small thanks for my labour.

71   What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

72   Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair
73   as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as
74   fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care
75   I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

76   Say I she is not fair?

77   I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to
78   stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so
79   I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part,
80   I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter.

81   Pandarus,--

82   Not I.

83   Sweet Pandarus,--

84   Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I
85   found it, and there an end.

86   Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
87   Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
88   When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
89   I cannot fight upon this argument;
90   It is too starved a subject for my sword.
91   But Pandarus,--O gods, how do you plague me!
92   I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
93   And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
94   As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
95   Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
96   What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
97   Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
98   Between our Ilium and where she resides,
99   Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood,
100  Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
101  Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.

102  How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

103  Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,
104  For womanish it is to be from thence.
105  What news, AEneas, from the field to-day?

106  That Paris is returned home and hurt.

107  By whom, AEneas?

108  Troilus, by Menelaus.

109  Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn;
110  Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

111  Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!

112  Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
113  But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?

114  In all swift haste.

115  Come, go we then together.