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
_Agam_. Princes,
What grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below
Fails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
That we come short of our suppose so far
That after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash’d behold our works
And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else
But the protractive trials of great Jove
To find persistive constancy in men;
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.
But in the wind and tempest of her frown
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass or matter by itself
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
_Nestor_. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements
Like Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now
Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage
As rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,
And with an accent tun’d in self-same key
Retorts to chiding fortune.
_Vlyſ_. Agamemnon,
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up-hear what Vlyſſes speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation
The which, [To Agamemnon] most mighty, for thy place and sway,
[To Nestor] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,
I give to both your speeches- which were such
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again
As venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears
To his experienc’d tongue-yet let it please both,
Thou great, and wise, to hear Vlyſſes speak.
_Agam_. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.
_Vlyſ_. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,
But for these instances:
The specialty of rule hath been neglected;
And look how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
When that the general is not like the hive,
To whom the foragers shall all repair,
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
Th’ unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office, and custom, in all line of order;
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
In noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d
Amidst the other, whose med’cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts, like the commandment of a king,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What plagues and what portents, what mutiny,
What raging of the sea, shaking of earth,
Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate,
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,
Which is the ladder of all high designs,
The enterprise is sick! How could communities,
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
The primogenity and due of birth,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
But by degree, stand in authentic place?
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe;
Strength should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son should strike his father dead;
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong-
Between whose endless jar justice resides-
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree it is
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d
By him one step below, he by the next,
That next by him beneath; so ever step,
Exampl’d by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation.
And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
_Nestor_. Most wisely hath Vlyſſes here discover’d
The fever whereof all our power is sick.
_Agam_. The nature of the sickness found, Vlyſſes,
What is the remedy?
_Vlyſ_. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our host,
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
Breaks scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and awkward action-
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls-
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting player whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage-
Such to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks
’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries ‘Excellent! ’tis Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he being drest to some oration.’
That’s done-as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels, as like Vulcan and his wife;
Yet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!
’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.’
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit
And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport
Sir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field or speech for truce,
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
_Nestor_. And in the imitation of these twain-
Who, as Vlyſſes says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice-many are infect.
Aiax is grown self-will’d and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
To match us in comparisons with dirt,
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.
_Vlyſ_. They tax our policy and call it cowardice,
Count wisdom as no member of the war,
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand. The still and mental parts
That do contrive how many hands shall strike
When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies’ weight-
Why, this hath not a finger’s dignity:
They call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;
So that the ram that batters down the wall,
For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,
They place before his hand that made the engine,
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
_Nestor_. Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse
Makes many Thetis’ sons.
[Tucket]
_Agam_. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.
_Men_. From Troy.