Troy. A Street. |
|
Enter, on one side, ĆNEAS, and Servant with a torch; on the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES, and Others, with torches. |
Par. See, ho! who is that there? |
Dei. It is the Lord Ćneas. |
Ćne. Is the prince there in person? |
Had I so good occasion to lie long |
As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business |
Should rob my bed-mate of my company. |
Dio. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Ćneas. |
Par. A valiant Greek, Ćneas; take his hand: |
Witness the process of your speech, wherein |
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, |
Did haunt you in the field. |
Ćne. Health to you, valiant sir, |
During all question of the gentle truce; |
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance |
As heart can think or courage execute. |
Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. |
Our bloods are now in calm, and, so long, health! |
But when contention and occasion meet, |
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life |
With all my force, pursuit, and policy. |
Ćne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly |
With his face backward. In humane gentleness, |
Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life, |
Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear, |
No man alive can love in such a sort |
The thing he means to kill more excellently. |
Dio. We sympathize. Jove, let Ćneas live, |
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, |
A thousand complete courses of the sun! |
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, |
With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow! |
Ćne. We know each other well. |
Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. |
Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, |
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. |
What business, lord, so early? |
Ćne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not. |
Par. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek |
To Calchas' house, and there to render him, |
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. |
Let's have your company; or, if you please, |
Haste there before us. I constantly do think— |
Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge— |
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night: |
Rouse him and give him note of our approach, |
With the whole quality wherefore: I fear |
We shall be much unwelcome. |
Ćne. That I assure you: |
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece |
Than Cressid borne from Troy. |
Par. There is no help; |
The bitter disposition of the time |
Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you. |
Ćne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. |
Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; faith, tell me true, |
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, |
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best— |
Myself or Menelaus? |
Dio. Both alike: |
He merits well to have her that doth seek her— |
Not making any scruple of her soilure— |
With such a hell of pain and world of charge, |
And you as well to keep her that defend her— |
Not palating the taste of her dishonour— |
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends: |
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up |
The lees and dregs of a fiat tamed piece; |
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins |
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors: |
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; |
But he as he, the heavier for a whore. |
Par. You are too bitter to your country-woman. |
Dio. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris: |
For every false drop in her bawdy veins |
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple |
Of her contaminated carrion weight |
A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak, |
She hath not given so many good words breath |
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. |
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, |
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; |
But we in silence hold this virtue well, |
We'll not commend what we intend to sell. |
Here lies our way. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.