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. |
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