Troilus and Cressida
Act 4, Scene 4
Troy. Pandarus’s House.
- Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
- Be moderate, be moderate.
Cressida3 - 11
- Why tell you me of moderation?
- The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
- And violenteth in a sense as strong
- As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
- If I could temporize with my affections,
- Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
- The like allayment could I give my grief:
- My love admits no qualifying dross,
- No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
- Enter Troilus.
- Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
- O Troilus, Troilus!
- Embracing him.
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- What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. “O heart,” as the goodly saying is,
- “O heart, heavy heart,
- Why sigh’st thou without breaking?”
- Where he answers again,
- “Because thou canst not ease thy smart
- By friendship nor by speaking.”
- There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, lambs?
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- Cressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity
- That the blest gods, as angry with my fancy,
- More bright in zeal than the devotion which
- Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
- Have the gods envy?
- Ay, ay, ay, ay, ’tis too plain a case.
- And is it true that I must go from Troy?
- A hateful truth.
- What, and from Troilus too?
- From Troy and Troilus.
- Is’t possible?
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- And suddenly, where injury of chance
- Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
- All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
- Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
- Our lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows
- Even in the birth of our own laboring breath.
- We two, that with so many thousand sighs
- Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
- With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
- Injurious time now with a robber’s haste
- Crams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.
- As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
- With distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,
- He fumbles up into a loose adieu;
- And scants us with a single famish’d kiss,
- Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
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- My lord, is the lady ready?
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- Hark, you are call’d. Some say the Genius so
- Cries “come” to him that instantly must die.
- —Bid them have patience, she shall come anon.
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- Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will
- be blown up by th’ root.
- I must then to the Grecians?
- No remedy.
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- A woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!
- When shall we see again?
- Hear me, love. Be thou but true of heart—
- I true? How now? What wicked deem is this?
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- Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
- For it is parting from us.
- I speak not “be thou true” as fearing thee,
- For I will throw my glove to Death himself
- That there is no maculation in thy heart;
- But “be thou true” say I to fashion in
- My sequent protestation: be thou true,
- And I will see thee.
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- O, you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers
- As infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.
- And I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
- And you this glove. When shall I see you?
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- I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
- To give thee nightly visitation.
- But yet be true.
- O heavens, “be true” again?
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- Hear why I speak it, love.
- The Grecian youths are full of quality;
- Their loving well compos’d with gift of nature,
- Flowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.
- How novelty may move, and parts with person,
- Alas, a kind of godly jealousy
- (Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin)
- Makes me afeard.
- O heavens, you love me not.
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- Die I a villain then!
- In this I do not call your faith in question
- So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,
- Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
- Nor play at subtle games—fair virtues all,
- To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant—
- But I can tell that in each grace of these
- There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
- That tempts most cunningly, but be not tempted.
- Do you think I will?
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- But something may be done that we will not,
- And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
- When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
- Presuming on their changeful potency.
Aeneas104 - 105
- Nay, good my lord!
- Come kiss, and let us part.
Paris107 - 108
- Brother Troilus!
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- Good brother, come you hither,
- And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.
- My lord, will you be true?
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- Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault:
- Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
- I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
- Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
- With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
- Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
- Is “plain and true”; there’s all the reach of it.
- Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, and Diomedes.
- Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady
- Which for Antenor we deliver you.
- At the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,
- And by the way possess thee what she is.
- Entreat her fair, and, by my soul, fair Greek,
- If e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
- Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
- As Priam is in Ilion.
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- Fair Lady Cressid,
- So please you, save the thanks this prince expects.
- The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
- Pleads your fair usage, and to Diomed
- You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.
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- Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
- To shame the seal of my petition to thee
- In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
- She is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises
- As thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.
- I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
- For by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
- Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
- I’ll cut thy throat.
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- O, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.
- Let me be privileg’d by my place and message,
- To be a speaker free. When I am hence,
- I’ll answer to my lust, and know you, lord,
- I’ll nothing do on charge. To her own worth
- She shall be priz’d; but that you say, “Be’t so,”
- I speak it in my spirit and honor, “No.”
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- Come, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,
- This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
- Lady, give me your hand, and as we walk,
- To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
- Exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomedes. Sound trumpet.
- Hark, Hector’s trumpet!
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- How have we spent this morning!
- The Prince must think me tardy and remiss,
- That swore to ride before him to the field.
- ’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come, to field with him.
- Let us make ready straight.
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- Yea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity
- Let us address to tend on Hector’s heels.
- The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
- On his fair worth and single chivalry.