The Prologue

In Troy there lyes the Scene: From Iles of Greece The Princes Orgillous, their high blood chaf’d Haue to the Port of Athens ſent their ſhippes Fraught with the miniſters and inſtruments Of cruell Warre: Sixty and nine that wore Their Crownets Regall, from th’ Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made To ranſacke Troy, within whoſe ſtrong emures The rauiſh’d Helen, Menelaus Queene, With wanton Paris sleepes, and that’s the Quarrell. To Tenedos they come, And the deepe-drawing Barke do there diſgorge Their warlike frautage: now on Dardan Plaines The freſh and yet unbruiſed Greekes do pitch Their braue Pauillions. Priams ſix-gated City, Dardan and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, And Antenonidus with maſsie Staples And correſponſiue and fulfilling Bolts Stirre up the Sonnes of Troy. Now Expectation tickling skittiſh ſpirits, On one and other ſide, Troian and Greeke, Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come, A Prologue arm’d, but not in confidence Of Authors pen, or Actors voyce, but ſuited In like conditions, as our Argument,

To tell you (faire Beholders) that our Play Leapes ore the vaunt and firſtlings of those broyles, Beginning in the middle. ſtarting thence away, To what may be digeſted in a Play: Like, or finde fault, do as your pleaſures are, Now good, or bad, ’tis but the chance of Warre.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Enter Pandarus and Troylus

Troylus. Call here my Varlet, Ile vnarme againe. Why should I warre without the walls of Troy That finde ſuch cruell battell here within? Each Troian that is maſter of his heart, Let him to field, Troylus, alas hath none.

Pan. Will this geere nere be mended?

Troy. The Greeks are strong, & and skilful to their ſtrength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceneſſe Valiant: But I am weaker then a womans teare: Tamer then ſleepe, fonder then ignorance; Leſſe valiant then the Virgin in the night, And skillneſſe as vnpractis’d Infancie.

Pan. Well, I haue told you enough of this: For my part, Ile not meddle nor make no farther. Hee that will haue a Cake out of the Wheate muſt needes tarry the grinding.

Troy. Haue I not tarried?

Pan. I the grinding, but you muſt tarry the bolting.

Troy. Haue I not tarried?

Pan. I the bolting; but you muſt tarry the leau’ing.

Troy. Still haue I tarried.

Pan. I to the leauening: but heeres yet in the word hereafter the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the heating of the Ouen, and the Baking; nay, you muſt ſtay the cooling too, or you may chance to burne your lips.

Troy. Patience herſelfe, what Goddeſſe ere ſhe be, Doth leſſer blench at ſufferance, then I doe: At Priams Royall Table doe I ſit; And when faire Creſſid comes into my thoughts, So (Traitor) then ſhe comes, when ſhe is thence.

Pan. Well: She look’d yeſternight fairer, then euer I ſaw her looke, Or any woman eſſe.

Troy. I was about to tell thee, when my heart, As wedged with a ſigh, would riue in twaine, Leaſt Hector or my Father ſhould perceiue me: I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a-ſcorne) Buried this ſigh, in wrinkle of a ſmile: But ſorrow, that is couch’d in ſeeming gladneſſe, Is like that mirth, Fate turnes to ſudden sadneſſe.

Pan. And her haire were not ſomewhat darker then Helens, well go too, there were no more compariſon betweene the Women. But for my part ſhe is my Kinſwoman, I would not (as they tearme it) praiſe it, but I wold ſome-body had heard her talk yeſterday as I did: I will not dispraiſe your ſiſter Caſſandra’s wit, but—

Troy. Oh Pandarus! I tell thee Pandarus; When I doe tell thee, there my hopes lye drown’d: Reply not in how many Fadomes deepe They lye indrench’d. I tell thee, I am mad In Creſſids loue. Thou anſwer’ſt ſhe is Faire, Powr’ſt in the open Vlcer of my heart, Her Eyes, her Haire, her Cheeke, her Gate, her Voice, Handleſt in thy diſcourſe. O that her Hand (In whoſe compariſon, all whites are Inke) Writing their owne reproach; to whoſe ſoft ſeizure, The Cignets Downe is harſh, and ſpirit of Senſe Hard as the palme of Plough-man. This thou tel’ſt me; As true thou tel’ſt me when I ſay I loue her: But ſaying thus, inſtead of Oyle and Balme, Thou lai’ſt in euery gaſh that loue hath giuen me, The Knife that made it.

Pan. I ſpeak no more then truth.

Troy. Thou do’ſt not ſpeake ſo much.

Pan. Faith, Ile not meddle in’t: Let her be as ſhee is, if ſhe be faire, ’tis the better for her, and ſhe be not, ſhe ha’s the mends in her owne hands.

Troy. Good Pandarus: How now, Pandarus?

Pan. I haue had my Labour for my trauell, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; Gone betweene and betweene, but ſmall thankes for my labour.

Troy. What art thou angry Pandarus? what with me?

Pan. Becauſe ſhe’s Kinne to me, therefore ſhee’s not ſo fair as Helen, and ſhe were not kin to me, ſhe would be as faire on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not and ſhe were a Black-a Moore, ’tis all one to me.

Troy. Say I ſhe is not faire?

Pan. I doe not care whether you doe or no. Shee’s a Foole to ſtay behinde her Father: Let her to the Greeks, and ſo Ile tell her the next time I ſee her: for my part, Ile meddle nor make no more i’ th’ matter.

Troy. Pandarus?

Pan. Not I.

Troy. Sweete Pandarus.

Pan. Pray you ſpeak no more to me, I will leaue all as I found it, and there an end.

Exit Pand.

Sound Alarum

Tro. Peace you vngracious Clamors, peace rude ſounds, Fooles on both ſides, Helen muſt needs be faire, When with your bloud you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight vpon this Argument: It is too staru’d a ſubiect for my Sword, But Pandarus. O Gods! How do you plague me? I cannot come to Creſſid but by Pandar, And he’s as teachy to be woo’d to woe, As ſhe is ſtubborne, chast againſt all ſuite. Tell me Apollo for thy Daphnes Loue What Creſſid is, what Pandar, and what we: Her bed is India, there ſhe lies, a Pearle, Between our Ilium, and where ſhee recides Let it be cald the wild and wandring flood, Our ſelf the Merchant, and this ſayling Pandar, Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our Barke.

Alarum. Enter Æneas.

Æne. How now Prince Troylus? Wherefore not a field?

Troy. Becauſe not there; this womans anſwer ſorts. For womaniſh it is to be from thence: What newes Æneas from the field to day?

Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

Troy. By whom Æneas?

Æne. Troylus by Menelaus.

Troy. Let Paris bleed, ’tis but a ſcar to ſcorne, Paris is gor’d with Menelaus horne.

Alarum,

Æne. Harke what good ſport is out of Towne to day.

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

Æne. In all ſwift haſte.

Troy. Come, goe wee then togither.

Exeunt.

Enter Creſſid and her man.

Cre. Who were thoſe went by?

Man. Queen Hecuba, and Hellen.

Cre. And whether go they?

Man. Vp to the Eaſterne Tower, Whoſe height commands as ſubiect all the vaile, To ſee the battell: Hector whoſe pacience, Is as a Vertue fixt, to day was mou’d. He chides Andromache and ſtrooke his Armorer, And like as there were husbandry in Warre Before the Sunne rose, hee was harneſt lyte, And to the field goe’s he; where euery flower Did as a Prophet weepe what it foreſaw In Hectors wrath.

Cre. What was his cauſe of anger?

Man. The noiſe goe’s this; There is among the Greekes, A Lord of Troian blood, Nephew to Hector, They call him Aiax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

Man. They ſay he is a very man per ſe and stands alone.

Cre. So do all men, vnleſſe they are drunke, ſicke, or haue no legges.

Man. This man Lady, hath rob’d many beaſts of their particular additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churliſh as the Beare, ſlow as the Elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, that his valour is cruſht into folly, his folly ſauced with diſcretion: there is no man hath a vertue, that he hath not a glimpſe of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries ſome ſtaine of it. He is melancholy without cauſe, and merry againſt the haire, hee hath the ioynts of euery thing, but euery thing ſo out of ioynt, that hee is a gowtie Briareus, many hands and no vſe; or purblinded Argus, all eyes and no ſight.

Cre. But how ſhould this man that makes me ſmile, make Hector angry?

Man. They ſay he yeſterday cop’d Hector in the battle and ſtroke him downe, the diſdaind & ſhame whereof, hath euer since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Man. Madam your Vncle Pandarus.

Cre. Hectors a gallant man.

Man. As may be in the world Lady.

Pan. What’s that? what’s that?

Cre. Good morrow Vncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow Cozen Creſſid: what do you talke of? good morrow Alexander. how do you Cozen? when were you at Illium?

Cre. This morning Vncle.

Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gon ere yea came to Illium? Hellen was not vp? was ſhe?

Cre. Hector was gone but Hellen was not up?

Pan. E’ene ſo; Hector was ſtirring early.

Cre. That were we talking of and of his anger.

Pan. Was he angry?

Cre. So he ſaies here.

Pan. True, he was ſo; I know the cauſe too, heele lay about him to day I can tell them that and there’s Troylus will not come farre behind him, let them take heede of Troylus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troylus? Troylus is the better man of the two.

Cre. Oh Iupiter; there’s no compariſon.

Pan. What not betweene Troylus and Hector? do you know a man if you ſee him?

Cre. I, if I euer ſaw him before and knew him.

Pan. Well, I ſay Troylus is Troylus.

Cre. Then you ſay as I ſay, For I am ſure he is not Hector.

Pan. No not Hector is not Troylus in ſome degrees.

Cre. ’Tis just to each of them he is himſelfe.

Pan. Himſelfe? alas, poore Troylus I would he were.

Cre. So he is.

Pan. Condition I had gone bare-foote to India.

Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himſelfe? no? hee’s not himſselfe, would a were himſelfe: well, the Gods are aboue, time muſt friend or end: well Troylus well, I would my heart were in her body; no, Hector is not a better man then Troylus.

Cre. Excuſe me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th’others not come too’t, you ſhall tell me another tale when th’others come too’t: Hector ſhall not haue his will this yeare.

Cre. He ſhall not neede it if he haue his owne.

Pan. Nor his qualities.

Cre. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beautie.

Cre. ’Twould not become him, his own’s better.

Pan. You haue no iudgment Neece; Hellen her ſelfe ſwore th’other day that Troylus for a browne favour (for ſo ’tis I must confeſſe) not browne neither.

Cre. No, but browne.

Pan. Faith, to ſay truth, browne and not browne.

Cre. To ſay the truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais’d his complexion above Paris.

Cre. Why Paris hath colour inough.

Pan. So he has.

Cre. Then Troylus should haue too much, if ſhe prasi’d him aboue, his complexion is higher then his, he hauing colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praiſe for a good complexion. I had as lieue Hellens golden tongue had commended Troylus for a copper noſe.

Pan. I ſweare to you, I think Hellen loues him better then Paris.

Cre. Then ſhee’s a merry Greeke indeed.

Pan. Nay I am ſure ſhe does, ſhe came to him th’other day into the compaſt window, and you know he has not paſt three or foure haires on his chinne.

Cre. Indeed a Tapsters Arithmetique may ſoone bring his particulars therein to a totall.

Pan. Why he is very yong, and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cre. Is he ſo young a man, and ſo old a lifter?

Pan. But to prooue to you that Hellen loues him, ſhe came and puts me her white hand to his clouen chin.

Cre. Juno haue mercy, how came it clouen?

Pan. Why, you know ’tis dimpled, I thinke his ſmyling becomes him better then any man in all Phrigia.

Cre. Oh he ſmiles valiantly.

Pan. Dooes hee not?

Cre. Oh yes, and ’twere a clow’d in Autumne.

Pan. Why go to then, but to proue to you that Hellen loues Troylus.

Cre. Troylus will ſtand to thee Proofe, if youle prooue it ſo.

Pan. Troylus? why he eſteemes her no more then I eſteeme an addle egge.

Cre. If you loue an addle egge as well as you loue an idle head, you would eate chickens i’ th’ ſhell.

Pan. I cannot chuſe but laugh to thinke how ſhe tickled his chin, indeed ſhee has a maruel’s white hand I muſt needs confeſſe.

Cre. Without the racke.

Pan. And ſhee takes vpon her to ſpie a white haire on his chinne.

Cre. Alas poore chin? many a wart is richer.

Pan. But there was ſuch laughing, Queen Hecuba laught that her eyes ran ore.

Cre. With Milſtones.

Pan. And Caſſandra laught.

Cre. But there was a more temperate fire vnder the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run ore too?

Pan. And Hector laught.

Cre. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Marry at the white haire that Hellen ſpied on Troylus chin.

Cre. And t’had beene a greene haire, I ſhould haue laught too.

Pan. They laught not ſo much at the haire, as at his pretty anſwere.

Cre. What was his anſwere?

Pan. Quoth ſhee, heere’s but two and fifty haires on your chinne; and one of them is white.

Cre. This is her queſtion.

Pand. That’s true, make no queſtion of that, two and fiftie haires quoth hee, and one white, that white haire is my Father, and all the reſt are his Sonnes. Iupiter quoth ſhe, which of theſe haires is Paris my husband? The forked one quoth he, pluckt out and giue it him: but there was ſuch laughing, and Hellen so bluſht, and Paris ſo chaft, and all the reſt ſo laught, that it paſt.

Cre. So let it now, For it has beene a great while going by.

Pan. Well, Cozen, I told you a thing yeſterday, think on’t.

Cre. So I does.

Pan. Ile be ſworne ’tis true, he will weepe you an ’twere a man borne in Aprill.

Sound a retreat.

Cre. And Ile ſpring vp in his teares, an ’twere a nettle againſt May.

Pan. Harke they are comming from the field, shal we ſtand vp here and ſee them, as they paſſe toward Illium, good Neece do, ſweet Neece Creſſida.

Cre. At your pleaſure.

Pan. Heere, heere, here’s an excellent place, heere we may ſee moſt brauely, Ile tel you them all by their names, as they paſſe by, but mark Troylus aboue the reſt.

Enter Æneas.

Cre. Speake not ſo low’d.

Pan. That’s Æneas. is not that a braue man, hee’s one of the flowers of Troy I can you, but merke Troylus. you ſhall ſee anon.

Cre. Who’s that?

Enter Antenor.

Pan. That’s Antenor, he has a ſhrow’d wit I can tell you, and hee’s a man good inough, hee’s one o’th ſoundeſt iudgment in Troy whoſoeuer, and a proper man of perſon: when comes Troylus? Ile ſhew you Troylus anon, if hee ſee me, you ſhall ſee him nod at me.

Cre. Will he giue you the nod?

Pan. You ſhall ſee.

Cre. If he do, the rich ſhall haue more.

Enter Hector.

Pan. That’s Hector, that, that, looke you, that there’s a fellow. Goe thy way Hector, there’s a braue man Neece, O braue Hector! Looke how hee lookes? there’s a countenance; iſt not a braue man?

Cre. O braue man!

Pan. Is a not? It dooes a mans heart good, looke you what hacks are on his Helmet. looke you yonder, do you ſee? Looke you there? There’s no ieſting, laying on, tak’t off, who ill as they ſay, there be hacks.

Cre. Be thoſe with Swords?

Enter Paris.

Pan. Swords, any thing, he cares not, and the diuell come to him, it’s all one, by Gods lid it dooes ones heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: looke yee yonder Neece, iſt not a gallant man to, iſt not? Why this is braue now: who ſaid he came hurt home to day? Hee’s not hurt, why this will do Hellens heart good now, ha? Would I could ſee Troylus now, you ſhall Troylus anon.

Cre. Whoſe that

Enter Hellenus.

Pan. That’s Hellenus, I maruell where Troylus is, that’s Helenus, I thinke he went not forth to day: that’s Hellenus.

Cre. Can Hellenus fight, Vncle?

Pan. Hellenus no: yes heele fight indifferent, well, I maruell where Troylus is; harke, do you not heare the people crie Troylus? Hellenus is a Prieſt.

Cre. What ſneaking fellow comes yonder?

Enter Troylus

Pan. Where? Yonder? That’s Daphobus. ’Tis Troylus! Ther’s a man Neece, hem; Braue Troylus, the Prince of Chiualrie.

Cre. Peace, for ſhame, peace.

Pan. Marke him, not him: O braue Troylus: looke well vpon him Neece, looke you how his Sword is bloudied, and his Helme more hackt than Hectors, and how he lookes, and how he goes. O admirable youth! he ne’er ſaw three and twenty. Go thy way Troylus, go thy way, had I a ſiſter were a Grace, or a daughter a Goddeſſe, hee ſhould take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is durt to him, and, I warrant, Helen to change, would giue money to boot.

Enter common Soldiers.

Cre. Heere come more.

Pan. Aſſes, fooles, dolts, chaff and bran, chaffe and bran; porredge after meat. I could liue and dye i’ th’ eyes of Troylus. Ne’re looke, ne’re looke; the Eagles are gon, Crowes and Dawes, Crowes and Dawes: I had rather be ſuch a man as Troylus, then Agamemnon and all Greece.

Cre. There is among the Greekes Achilles, a better man then Troylus.

Pan. Achilles? A Dray-man, a Porter, a very Camell.

Cre. Well well.

Pan. Well, well? Why haue you any diſcretion? haue you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good ſhape, diſcourſe, manhood, learning, gentleneſſe, vertue, youth, liberality, and ſo forth; the Spice, and ſalt that ſeaſon a man?

Cre. I, a minc’d man and then to be bak’d with no Date in the pye, for then the man’s dates out.

Pan. You are ſuch another woman, one knowes not at what ward you lye.

Cre. Vpon my backe, to defend my belly; vpon my wit, to defend my wiles; vppon my ſecrecy, to defend mine honeſty; my Maske, to defend my beauty, and you to defend all theſe: and at all theſe wardes I lye at, at a thouſand watches.

Pan. Say one of your watches.

Cre. Nay Ile watch you for that, and that’s one of the cheefeſt of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not haue hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow, unleſſ it ſwell paſt hiding, and then it’s paſt watching

Enter Boy.

Pan. You are ſuch another.

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

Pan. Where?

Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him.

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.

Cre. Adieu, uncle.

Pan. I will be with you, niece, by and by.

Cre. To bring, uncle.

Pan. Ay, a token from Troylus. Exit

Cre. By the same token, you are a bawd. Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice, He offers in another’s enterprise; But more in Troylus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be, Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing. That she belov’d knows nought that knows not this: Men prize the thing ungain’d more than it is. That she was never yet that ever knew Love got so sweet as when desire did sue; Therefore this maxim out of love I teach: Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech. Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear, Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. Exit

Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Vlyſſes, Diomedes, Menelaus, and others