|ACT III SCENE II
|The same. Pandarus' orchard.
|[Enter PANDARUS and Troilus's Boy, meeting]
|How now! where's thy master? at my cousin
|No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.
|O, here he comes.
|How now, how now!
|Sirrah, walk off.
|Have you seen my cousin?
|No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door,
|Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
|Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
|And give me swift transportance to those fields
|Where I may wallow in the lily-beds
|Proposed for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus,
|From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings
|And fly with me to Cressid!
|Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring her straight.
|I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
|The imaginary relish is so sweet
|That it enchants my sense: what will it be,
|When that the watery palate tastes indeed
|Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me,
|Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine,
|Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness,
|For the capacity of my ruder powers:
|I fear it much; and I do fear besides,
|That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
|As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
|The enemy flying.
|She's making her ready, she'll come straight: you
|must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches
|her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a
|sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest
|villain: she fetches her breath as short as a
|Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom:
|My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse;
|And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
|Like vassalage at unawares encountering
|The eye of majesty.
|[Re-enter PANDARUS with CRESSIDA]
|Come, come, what need you blush? shame's a baby.
|Here she is now: swear the oaths now to her that
|you have sworn to me. What, are you gone again?
|you must be watched ere you be made tame, must you?
|Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw backward,
|we'll put you i' the fills. Why do you not speak to
|her? Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your
|picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend
|daylight! an 'twere dark, you'ld close sooner.
|So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now!
|a kiss in fee-farm! build there, carpenter; the air
|is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere
|I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the
|ducks i' the river: go to, go to.
|You have bereft me of all words, lady.
|Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll
|bereave you o' the deeds too, if she call your
|activity in question. What, billing again? Here's
|'In witness whereof the parties interchangeably'--
|Come in, come in: I'll go get a fire.
|Will you walk in, my lord?
|O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus!
|Wished, my lord! The gods grant,--O my lord!
|What should they grant? what makes this pretty
|abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet
|lady in the fountain of our love?
|More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
|Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly.
|Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer
|footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to
|fear the worst oft cures the worse.
|O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all Cupid's
|pageant there is presented no monster.
|Nor nothing monstrous neither?
|Nothing, but our undertakings; when we vow to weep
|seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking
|it harder for our mistress to devise imposition
|enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed.
|This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will
|is infinite and the execution confined, that the
|desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
|They say all lovers swear more performance than they
|are able and yet reserve an ability that they never
|perform, vowing more than the perfection of ten and
|discharging less than the tenth part of one. They
|that have the voice of lions and the act of hares,
|are they not monsters?
|Are there such? such are not we: praise us as we
|are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go
|bare till merit crown it: no perfection in reversion
|shall have a praise in present: we will not name
|desert before his birth, and, being born, his addition
|shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus
|shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst
|shall be a mock for his truth, and what truth can
|speak truest not truer than Troilus.
|Will you walk in, my lord?
|What, blushing still? have you not done talking yet?
|Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.
|I thank you for that: if my lord get a boy of you,
|you'll give him me. Be true to my lord: if he
|flinch, chide me for it.
|You know now your hostages; your uncle's word and my
|Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred,
|though they be long ere they are wooed, they are
|constant being won: they are burs, I can tell you;
|they'll stick where they are thrown.
|Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart.
|Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day
|For many weary months.
|Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
|Hard to seem won: but I was won, my lord,
|With the first glance that ever--pardon me--
|If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
|I love you now; but not, till now, so much
|But I might master it: in faith, I lie;
|My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
|Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
|Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us,
|When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
|But, though I loved you well, I woo'd you not;
|And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
|Or that we women had men's privilege
|Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
|For in this rapture I shall surely speak
|The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,
|Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
|My very soul of counsel! stop my mouth.
|And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.
|Pretty, i' faith.
|My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
|'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss:
|I am ashamed. O heavens! what have I done?
|For this time will I take my leave, my lord.
|Your leave, sweet Cressid!
|Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morning,--
|Pray you, content you.
|What offends you, lady?
|Sir, mine own company.
|You cannot shun Yourself.
|Let me go and try:
|I have a kind of self resides with you;
|But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
|To be another's fool. I would be gone:
|Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.
|Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.
|Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;
|And fell so roundly to a large confession,
|To angle for your thoughts: but you are wise,
|Or else you love not, for to be wise and love
|Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.
|O that I thought it could be in a woman--
|As, if it can, I will presume in you--
|To feed for aye her ramp and flames of love;
|To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
|Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
|That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
|Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,
|That my integrity and truth to you
|Might be affronted with the match and weight
|Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
|How were I then uplifted! but, alas!
|I am as true as truth's simplicity
|And simpler than the infancy of truth.
|In that I'll war with you.
|O virtuous fight,
|When right with right wars who shall be most right!
|True swains in love shall in the world to come
|Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes,
|Full of protest, of oath and big compare,
|Want similes, truth tired with iteration,
|As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
|As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
|As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre,
|Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
|As truth's authentic author to be cited,
|'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse,
|And sanctify the numbers.
|Prophet may you be!
|If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
|When time is old and hath forgot itself,
|When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
|And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
|And mighty states characterless are grated
|To dusty nothing, yet let memory,
|From false to false, among false maids in love,
|Upbraid my falsehood! when they've said 'as false
|As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
|As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,
|Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son,'
|'Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
|'As false as Cressid.'
|Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll be the
|witness. Here I hold your hand, here my cousin's.
|If ever you prove false one to another, since I have
|taken such pains to bring you together, let all
|pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end
|after my name; call them all Pandars; let all
|constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids,
|and all brokers-between Pandars! say, amen.
|Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber with a
|bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your
|pretty encounters, press it to death: away!
|And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here
|Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear!