“If no love is, O God! why feel I so?
And if love is, what thing and which is he?
If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?
If it be wick’, a wonder thinketh me
Whence ev’ry torment and adversity
That comes of love *may to me savoury think:* *seem acceptable to me*
For more I thirst the more that I drink.
“And if I *at mine owen luste bren* *burn by my own will*
From whence cometh my wailing and my plaint?
If maugre me,<10> *whereto plain I* then? *to what avail do I complain?*
I wot ner* why, unweary, that I faint. *neither
O quicke death! O sweete harm so quaint!* *strange
How may I see in me such quantity,
But if that I consent that so it be?
“And if that I consent, I wrongfully
Complain y-wis: thus pushed to and fro,
All starreless within a boat am I,
Middes the sea, betwixte windes two,
That in contrary standen evermo’.
Alas! what wonder is this malady! —
For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die!”
Devoting himself wholly to the thought of Cressida — though he
yet knew not whether she was woman or goddess — Troilus, in
spite of his royal blood, became the very slave of love. He set at
naught every other charge, but to gaze on her as often as he
could; thinking so to appease his hot fire, which thereby only
burned the hotter. He wrought marvellous feats of arms against
the Greeks, that she might like him the better for his renown;
then love deprived him of sleep, and made his food his foe; till
he had to “borrow a title of other sickness,” that men might not
know he was consumed with love. Meantime, Cressida gave no
sign that she heeded his devotion, or even knew of it; and he
was now consumed with a new fear — lest she loved some other
man. Bewailing his sad lot — ensnared, exposed to the scorn of
those whose love he had ridiculed, wishing himself arrived at
the port of death, and praying ever that his lady might glad him
with some kind look — Troilus is surprised in his chamber by his
friend Pandarus, the uncle of Cressida. Pandarus, seeking to
divert his sorrow by making him angry, jeeringly asks whether
remorse of conscience, or devotion, or fear of the Greeks, has
caused all this ado. Troilus pitifully beseeches his friend to leave
him to die alone, for die he must, from a cause which he must
keep hidden; but Pandarus argues against Troilus’ cruelty in
hiding from a friend such a sorrow, and Troilus at last confesses
that his malady is love. Pandarus suggests that the beloved
object may be such that his counsel might advance his friend’s
desires; but Troilus scouts the suggestion, saying that Pandarus
could never govern himself in love.
“Yea, Troilus, hearken to me,” quoth Pandare,
“Though I be nice;* it happens often so, *foolish
That one that access* doth full evil fare, *in an access of fever
By good counsel can keep his friend therefro’.
I have my selfe seen a blind man go
Where as he fell that looke could full wide;
A fool may eke a wise man often guide.
“A whetstone is no carving instrument,
But yet it maketh sharpe carving tooles;
And, if thou know’st that I have aught miswent,* *erred, failed
Eschew thou that, for such thing to thee school* is. *schooling, lesson
Thus oughte wise men to beware by fooles;
If so thou do, thy wit is well bewared;
By its contrary is everything declared.
“For how might ever sweetness have been know
To him that never tasted bitterness?
And no man knows what gladness is, I trow,
That never was in sorrow or distress:
Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness,
Each set by other, *more for other seemeth,* *its quality is made
As men may see; and so the wise man deemeth.” more obvious by the contrast*
Troilus, however, still begs his friend to leave him to mourn in
peace, for all his proverbs can avail nothing. But Pandarus
insists on plying the lover with wise saws, arguments,
reproaches; hints that, if he should die of love, his lady may
impute his death to fear of the Greeks; and finally induces
Troilus to admit that the well of all his woe, his sweetest foe, is
called Cressida. Pandarus breaks into praises of the lady, and
congratulations of his friend for so well fixing his heart; he
makes Troilus utter a formal confession of his sin in jesting at
lovers and bids him think well that she of whom rises all his
woe, hereafter may his comfort be also.
“For thilke* ground, that bears the weedes wick’ *that same
Bears eke the wholesome herbes, and full oft
Next to the foule nettle, rough and thick,
The lily waxeth,* white, and smooth, and soft; *grows
And next the valley is the hill aloft,
And next the darke night is the glad morrow,
And also joy is next the fine* of sorrow.” *end, border
Pandarus holds out to Troilus good hope of achieving his
desire; and tells him that, since he has been converted from his
wicked rebellion against Love, he shall be made the best post of
all Love’s law, and most grieve Love’s enemies. Troilus gives
utterance to a hint of fear; but he is silenced by Pandarus with
another proverb — “Thou hast full great care, lest that the carl
should fall out of the moon.” Then the lovesick youth breaks
into a joyous boast that some of the Greeks shall smart; he
mounts his horse, and plays the lion in the field; while Pandarus
retires to consider how he may best recommend to his niece the
suit of Troilus.