Vulgique secutum ultima murmur erat:—
But the judges awarded the prize, for which they contended, to Ulysses;
Mota manus procerum est; et quid facundia posset
Tum patuit, fortisque viri tulit arma disertus.
The next necessary rule is, to put nothing into the discourse, which may hinder your moving of the passions. Too many accidents, as I have said, incumber the poet, as much as the arms of Saul did David; for the variety of passions, which they produce, are ever crossing and justling each other out of the way. He, who treats of joy and grief together, is in a fair way of causing neither of those effects. There is yet another obstacle to be removed, which is,—pointed wit, and sentences affected out of season; these are nothing of kin to the violence of passion: no man is at leisure to make sentences and similes, when his soul is in an agony. I the rather name this fault, that it may serve to mind me of my former errors; neither will I spare myself, but give an example of this 261 kind from my "Indian Emperor." Montezuma, pursued by his enemies, and seeking sanctuary, stands parleying without the fort, and describing his danger to Cydaria, in a simile of six lines;
As on the sands the frighted traveller
Sees the high seas come rolling from afar, &c.
My Indian potentate was well skilled in the sea for an inland prince, and well improved since the first act, when he sent his son to discover it. The image had not been amiss from another man, at another time: Sed nunc non erat his locus: he destroyed the concernment which the audience might otherwise have had for him; for they could not think the danger near, when he had the leisure to invent a simile.
If Shakespeare be allowed, as I think he must, to have made his characters distinct, it will easily be inferred, that he understood the nature of the passions: because it has been proved already, that confused passions make distinguishable characters: yet I cannot deny that he has his failings; but they are not so much in the passions themselves, as in his manner of expression: he often obscures his meaning by his words, and sometimes makes it unintelligible. I will not say of so great a poet, that he distinguished not the blown puffy stile, from true sublimity; but I may venture to maintain, that the fury of his fancy often transported him beyond the bounds of judgment, either in coining of new words and phrases, or racking words which were in use, into the violence of a catachresis. It is not that I would explode the use of metaphors from passion, for Longinus thinks them necessary to raise it: but to use them at every word, to say nothing without a metaphor, a simile, an image, or 262 description; is, I doubt, to smell a little too strongly of the buskin. I must be forced to give an example of expressing passion figuratively; but that I may do it with respect to Shakespeare, it shall not be taken from any thing of his: it is an exclamation against Fortune, quoted in his Hamlet, but written by some other poet:
Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! all you gods,
In general synod, take away her power;
Break all the spokes and felleys from her wheel,
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n,
As low as to the fiends.
And immediately after, speaking of Hecuba, when Priam was killed before her eyes:
But who, ah woe! had seen the mobled queen
Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flame
With bisson rheum; a clout about that head,
Where late the diadem stood; and, for a rob
About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up.
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd;
But if the gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
The instant burst of clamour that she made
(Unless things mortal move them not at all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,
And passion in the gods.
What a pudder is here kept in raising the expression of trifling thoughts! would not a man have thought that the poet had been bound prentice to a wheel-wright, for his first rant? and had followed a rag-man, for the clout and blanket, in the second? Fortune is painted on a wheel, and therefore the writer, in a rage, will have poetical justice done 263 upon every member of that engine: after this execution, he bowls the nave down-hill, from heaven, to the fiends: (an unreasonable long mark, a man would think;) 'tis well there are no solid orbs to stop it in the way, or no element of fire to consume it: but when it came to the earth, it must be monstrous heavy, to break ground as low as the center. His making milch the burning eyes of heaven, was a pretty tolerable flight too: and I think no man ever drew milk out of eyes before him: yet, to make the wonder greater, these eyes were burning. Such a sight indeed were enough to have raised passion in the gods; but to excuse the effects of it, he tells you, perhaps they did not see it. Wise men would be glad to find a little sense couched under all these pompous words; for bombast is commonly the delight of that audience, which loves poetry, but understands it not: and as commonly has been the practice of those writers, who, not being able to infuse a natural passion into the mind, have made it their business to ply the ears, and to stun their judges by the noise. But Shakespeare does not often thus; for the passions in his scene between Brutus and Cassius are extremely natural, the thoughts are such as arise from the matter, the expression of them not viciously figurative. I cannot leave this subject, before I do justice to that divine poet, by giving you one of his passionate descriptions: 'tis of Richard the Second when he was deposed, and led in triumph through the streets of London by Henry of Bolingbroke: the painting of it is so lively, and the words so moving that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other language. Suppose you have seen already the fortunate usurper passing through the crowd, and followed by the shouts and acclamations of the people; and now behold King Richard 264 entering upon the scene: consider the wretchedness of his condition, and his carriage in it; and refrain from pity, if you can:
As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard: no man cry'd, God save him:
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
(The badges of his grief and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
To speak justly of this whole matter: it is neither height of thought that is discommended, nor pathetic vehemence, nor any nobleness of expression in its proper place; but it is a false measure of all these, something which is like them, and is not them: it is the Bristol-stone, which appears like a diamond; it is an extravagant thought, instead of a sublime one; it is roaring madness, instead of vehemence; and a sound of words, instead of sense. If Shakespeare were stripped of all the bombasts in his passions, and dressed in the most vulgar words, we should find the beauties of his thoughts remaining; if his embroideries were burnt down, there would still be silver at the bottom of the melting-pot: but I fear (at least let me fear it for myself) that we, who ape his sounding words, have nothing of his thought, but are all outside; there is not so much as a dwarf within our giant's clothes. Therefore, let not Shakespeare suffer for our sakes; it is our fault, who succeed him in an age which is more refined, if we imitate him so ill, that we copy his 265 failings only, and make a virtue of that in our writings, which in his was an imperfection.
For what remains, the excellency of that poet was, as I have said, in the more manly passions; Fletcher's in the softer: Shakespeare writ better betwixt man and man; Fletcher, betwixt man and woman: consequently, the one described friendship better; the other love: yet Shakespeare taught Fletcher to write love: and Juliet and Desdemona are originals. It is true, the scholar had the softer soul; but the master had the kinder. Friendship is both a virtue and a passion essentially; love is a passion only in its nature, and is not a virtue but by accident: good nature makes friendship; but effeminacy love. Shakespeare had an universal mind, which comprehended all characters and passions; Fletcher a more confined and limited: for though he treated love in perfection, yet honour, ambition, revenge, and generally all the stronger, passions, he either touched not, or not masterly. To conclude all, he was a limb of Shakespeare.
I had intended to have proceeded to the last property of manners, which is, that they must be constant, and the characters maintained the same from the beginning to the end; and from thence to have proceeded to the thoughts and expressions suitable to a tragedy: but I will first see how this will relish with the age. It is, I confess, but cursorily written; yet the judgment, which is given here, is generally founded upon experience: but because many men are shocked at the name of rules, as if they were a kind of magisterial prescription upon poets, I will conclude with the words of Rapin, in his Reflections on Aristotle's Work of Poetry: "If the rules be well considered, we shall find them to be made only to reduce nature into method, to trace her step by step, and not to suffer the least mark of her 266 to escape us: it is only by these, that probability in fiction is maintained, which is the soul of poetry. They are founded upon good sense, and sound reason, rather than on authority; for though Aristotle and Horace are produced, yet no man must argue, that what they write is true, because they writ it; but 'tis evident, by the ridiculous mistakes and gross absurdities, which have been made by those poets who have taken their fancy only for their guide, that if this fancy be not regulated, it is a mere caprice, and utterly incapable to produce a reasonable and judicious poem."
Footnote
See, my loved Britons, see your Shakespeare rise,
An awful ghost confessed to human eyes!
Unnamed, methinks, distinguished I had been
From other shades, by this eternal green,
About whose wreaths the vulgar poets strive,
And with a touch, their withered bays revive.
Untaught, unpractised, in a barbarous age,
I found not, but created first the stage.
And, if I drained no Greek or Latin store,
'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more.
On foreign trade I needed not rely,
Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply.
In this my rough-drawn play, you shall behold
Some master-strokes, so manly and so bold,
That he who meant to alter, found 'em such,
He shook, and thought it sacrilege to touch.
Now, where are the successors to my name?
What bring they to fill out a poet's fame?
Weak, short-lived issues of a feeble age;
Scarce living to be christened on the stage!
For humour farce, for love they rhyme dispense,
That tolls the knell for their departed sense.
Dulness might thrive in any trade but this:
'Twould recommend to some fat benefice.
Dulness, that in a playhouse meets disgrace,
Might meet with reverence, in its proper place.
The fulsome clench, that nauseates the town,
Would from a judge or alderman go down,
Such virtue is there in a robe and gown!
And that insipid stuff which here you hate,
Might somewhere else be called a grave debate;
Dulness is decent in the church and state.
But I forget that still 'tis understood,
Bad plays are best decried by showing good.
Sit silent then, that my pleased soul may see
A judging audience once, and worthy me;
268My faithful scene from true records shall tell,
How Trojan valour did the Greek excell;
Your great forefathers shall their fame regain,
And Homer's angry ghost repine in vain[1].
Footnote:
| Hector, Troilus, |
} } |
Sons of Priam. |
Priam, King of Troy.
Æneas, a Trojan Warrior.
Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida.
Calchas, a Trojan Priest, and Father to Cressida,
a fugitive to the Grecian camp.
| Agamemnon, Ulysses, Achilles, Ajax, Nestor, Diomedes, Patroclus, Menelaus, |
} } } } } } } } |
Grecian Warriors, engaged in the siege of Troy. |
Thersites, a slanderous Buffoon.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas.
Andromache, Wife to Hector.
Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, and Nestor.
Agam. Princes, it seems not strange to us, nor new,
That, after nine years siege, Troy makes defence,
Since every action of recorded fame
Has with long difficulties been involved,
Not answering that idea of the thought,
Which gave it birth; why then, you Grecian chiefs,
With sickly eyes do you behold our labours,
And think them our dishonour, which indeed
Are the protractive trials of the gods,
To prove heroic constancy in men?
Nest. With due observance of thy sovereign seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy well-weighed words. In struggling with misfortunes
Lies the true proof of virtue: On smooth seas,
How many bauble-boats dare set their sails,
And make an equal way with firmer vessels!
But let the tempest once enrage that sea,
And then behold the strong-ribbed argosie,
Bounding between the ocean and the air,
Like Perseus mounted on his Pegasus.
270
Then where are those weak rivals of the main?
Or, to avoid the tempest, fled to port,
Or made a prey to Neptune. Even thus
Do empty show, and true-prized worth, divide
In storms of fortune.
Ulys. Mighty Agamemnon!
Heart of our body, soul of our designs,
In whom the tempers, and the minds of all
Should be inclosed,—hear what Ulysses speaks.
Agam. You have free leave.
Ulys. Troy had been down ere this, and Hector's sword
Wanted a master, but for our disorders:
The observance due to rule has been neglected,
Observe how many Grecian tents stand void
Upon this plain, so many hollow factions:
For, when the general is not like the hive,
To whom the foragers should all repair,
What honey can our empty combs expect?
Or when supremacy of kings is shaken,
What can succeed? How could communities,
Or peaceful traffic from divided shores,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
But by degree, stand on their solid base?
Then every thing resolves to brutal force,
And headlong force is led by hoodwinked will.
For wild ambition, like a ravenous wolf,
Spurred on by will, and seconded by power,
Must make an universal prey of all,
And last devour itself.
Nest. Most prudently Ulysses has discovered
The malady, whereof our state is sick.
Diom. 'Tis truth he speaks; the general's disdained
By him one step beneath, he by the next;
That next by him below: So each degree
Spurns upward at superior eminence.
Thus our distempers are their sole support;
271
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.
Agam. The nature of this sickness found, inform us
From whence it draws its birth?
Ulys. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The chief of all our host,
Having his ears buzzed with his noisy fame,
Disdains thy sovereign charge, and in his tent
Lies, mocking our designs; with him Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, breaks scurril jests,
And with ridiculous and aukward action,
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,
Mimics the Grecian chiefs.
Agam. As how, Ulysses?
Ulys. Even thee, the king of men, he does not spare,
(The monkey author) but thy greatness pageants,
And makes of it rehearsals: like a player,
Bellowing his passion till he break the spring,
And his racked voice jar to his audience;
So represents he thee, though more unlike
Than Vulcan is to Venus.
And at this fulsome stuff,—the wit of apes,—
The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling,
From his deep chest roars out a loud applause,
Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze.
Nest. Nor are you spared, Ulysses; but, as you speak in council,
He hems ere he begins, then strokes his beard,
Casts down his looks, and winks with half an eye;
Has every action, cadence, motion, tone,
All of you but the sense.
Agam. Fortune was merry
When he was born, and played a trick on nature,
To make a mimic prince; he ne'er acts ill,
But when he would seem wise:
For all he says or does, from serious thought,
Appears so wretched, that he mocks his title,
272
And is his own buffoon.
Ulys. In imitation of this scurril fool,
Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles.
He keeps a table too, makes factious feasts,
Rails on our state of war, and sets Thersites
(A slanderous slave of an o'erflowing gall)
To level us with low comparisons.
They tax our policy with cowardice,
Count wisdom of no moment in the war,
In brief, esteem no act, but that of hand;
The still and thoughtful parts, which move those hands,
With them are but the tasks cut out by fear,
To be performed by valour.
Agam. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Is more of use than he; but you, grave pair,
Like Time and Wisdom marching hand in hand,
Must put a stop to these encroaching ills:
To you we leave the care;
You, who could show whence the distemper springs,
Must vindicate the dignity of kings.[Exeunt.
Enter Pandarus and Troilus.
Troil. Why should I fight without the Trojan walls,
Who, without fighting, am o'erthrown within?
The Trojan who is master of a soul,
Let him to battle; Troilus has none.
Pand. Will this never be at an end with you?
Troil. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness wary;
But I am weaker than a woman's tears,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
And artless as unpractised infancy.
Pand Well, I have told you enough of this; for 273 my part I'll not meddle nor make any further in your love; he, that will eat of the roastmeat, must stay for the kindling of the fire.
Troil. Have I not staid?
Pand. Ay, the kindling; but you must stay the spitting of the meat.
Troil. Have I not staid?
Pand. Ay, the spitting; but there's two words to a bargain; you must stay the roasting too.
Troil. Still have I staid; and still the farther off.
Pand. That's but the roasting, but there's more in this word stay; there's the taking off the spit, the making of the sauce, the dishing, the setting on the table, and saying grace; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your chaps.
Troil. At Priam's table pensive do I sit,
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts—
(Can she be said to come, who ne'er was absent!)
Pand. Well, she's a most ravishing creature; and she looked yesterday most killingly; she had such a stroke with her eyes, she cut to the quick with every glance of them.
Troil. I was about to tell thee, when my heart
Was ready with a sigh to cleave in two,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have, with mighty anguish of my soul,
Just at the birth, stifled this still-born sigh,
And forced my face into a painful smile.
Pand. I measured her with my girdle yesterday; she's not half a yard about the waist, but so taper a shape did I never see; but when I had her in my arms, Lord, thought I,—and by my troth I could not forbear sighing,—If prince Troilus had her at this advantage and I were holding of the door!—An she were a thought taller,—but as she is, she wants not an inch of Helen neither; but there's no more comparison 274 between the women—there was wit, there was a sweet tongue! How her words melted in her mouth! Mercury would have been glad to have such a tongue in his mouth, I warrant him. I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did.
Troil. Oh Pandarus, when I tell thee I am mad
In Cressid's love, thou answer'st she is fair;
Praisest her eyes, her stature, and her wit;
But praising thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st, in every wound her love has given me,
The sword that made it.
Pand. I give her but her due.
Troil. Thou giv'st her not so much.
Pand. Faith, I'll speak no more of her, let her be as she is; if she be a beauty, 'tis the better for her; an' she be not, she has the mends in her own hands, for Pandarus.
Troil. In spite of me, thou wilt mistake my meaning.
Pand. I have had but my labour for my pains; ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, and am ground in the mill-stones for my labour.
Troil. What, art thou angry, Pandarus, with thy friend?
Pand. Because she's my niece, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; an' she were not my niece, show me such another piece of woman's flesh: take her limb by limb: I say no more, but if Paris had seen her first, Menelaus had been no cuckold: but what care I if she were a blackamoor? what am I the better for her face?
Troil. Said I she was not beautiful?
Pand. I care not if you did; she's a fool to stay behind her father Calchas: let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her. For my part, I am resolute, I'll meddle no more in your affairs.
Troil. But hear me!
Troil. Dear Pandarus—
Pand. Pray speak no more on't; I'll not burn my
fingers in another body's business; I'll leave it as I
found it, and there's an end.
[Exit.
Troil. O gods, how do you torture me!
I cannot come to Cressida but by him,
And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo,
As she is to be won.
Enter Æneas.
Æneas. How now, prince Troilus; why not in the battle?
Troil. Because not there. This woman's answer suits me,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Æn. Paris is hurt.
Troil. By whom?
Æn. By Menelaus. Hark what good sport[Alarm within.
Is out of town to-day! When I hear such music,
I cannot hold from dancing.
Troil. I'll make one,
And try to lose an anxious thought or two
In heat of action.
Thus, coward-like, from love to war I run,
Seek the less dangers, and the greater shun.[Exit Troil.
Enter Cressida.
Cres. My lord Æneas, who were those went by?
I mean the ladies.
Æn. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Æn. Up to the western tower,
Whose height commands, as subject, all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is fixed like that of heaven, to-day was moved;
276
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer,
And, as there were good husbandry in war.
Before the sun was up he went to field;
Your pardon, lady, that's my business too.[Exit Æneas.
Cres. Hector's a gallant warrior.
Enter Pandarus.
Pand. What's that, what's that?
Cres. Good-morrow, uncle Pandarus.
Pand. Good-morrow, cousin Cressida. When were you at court?
Cres. This morning, uncle.
Pand. What were you a talking, when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone ere ye came? Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That I was talking of, and of his anger.
Pand. Was he angry, say you? true, he was so, and I know the cause. He was struck down yesterday in the battle, but he'll lay about him; he'll cry quittance with them to-day. I'll answer for him. And there's Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.
Cres. What, was he struck down too?
Pand. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.
Cres. Oh Jupiter! there's no comparison! Troilus the better man.
Pand. What, no comparison between Hector and Troilus? do you know a man if you see him?
Cres. No: for he may look like a man, and not be one.
Pand. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.
Cres. That's what I say; for I am sure he is not Hector.
Pand. No, nor Hector is not Troilus: make your best of that, niece!
277 Cres. 'Tis true, for each of them is himself.
Pand. Himself! alas, poor Troilus! I would he were himself: well, the gods are all-sufficient, and time must mend or end. I would he were himself, and would I were a lady for his sake. I would not answer for my maidenhead.—No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.
Cres. Excuse me.
Pand. Pardon me; Troilus is in the bud, 'tis early day with him; you shall tell me another tale when Troilus is come to bearing; and yet he will not bear neither, in some sense. No, Hector shall never have his virtues.
Cres. No matter.
Pand. Nor his beauty, nor his fashion, nor his wit; he shall have nothing of him.
Cres. They would not become him, his own are better.
Pand. How, his own better! you have no judgment, niece; Helen herself swore, the other day, that Troilus, for a manly brown complexion,—for so it is, I must confess—not brown neither.
Cres. No, but very brown.
Pand. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Come, I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris: nay, I'm sure she does. She comes me to him the other day, into the bow-window,—and you know Troilus has not above three or four hairs on his chin,—
Cres. That's but a bare commendation.
Pand. But to prove to you that Helen loves him, she comes, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin.
Cres. Has he been fighting then? how came it cloven?
Pand. Why, you know it is dimpled. I cannot chuse but laugh, to think how she tickled his cloven 278 chin. She has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess. But let that pass, for I know who has a whiter. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on it, think on it.
Cres. So I do, uncle.
Pand. I'll be sworn it is true; he will weep ye,
an' it were a man born in April.[A retreat sounded.
Hark, they are returning from the field; shall we
stay and see them as they come by, sweet niece?
do, sweet niece Cressida.
Cres. For once you shall command me.
Pand. Here, here, here is an excellent place; we may see them here most bravely, and I'll tell you all their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest; mark Troilus, he's worth your marking.
Æneas passes over the Stage.
Cres. Speak not so loud then.
Pand. That's Æneas. Is it not a brave man that? he's a swinger, many a Grecian he has laid with his face upward; but mark Troilus: you shall see anon.
Enter Antenor passing.
That's Antenor; he has a notable head-piece I can tell you, and he's the ablest man for judgment in all Troy; you may turn him loose, i'faith, and by my troth a proper person. When comes Troilus? I'll shew you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.
Hector passes over.
That's Hector, that, that, look you that; there's a fellow! go thy way, Hector; there's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector, look how he looks! there's a countenance. Is it not a brave man, niece?
279 Cres. I always told you so.
Pand. Is he not? it does a man's heart good to look on him; look you, look you there, what hacks are on his helmet! this was no boy's play, i'faith; he laid it on with a vengeance, take it off who will, as they say! there are hacks, niece!
Cres. Were those with swords?
Pand. Swords, or bucklers, faulchions, darts, and lances! any thing, he cares not! an' the devil come, it is all one to him: by Jupiter he looks so terribly, that I am half afraid to praise him.
Enter Paris.
Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris! look ye yonder, niece; is it not a brave young prince too? He draws the best bow in all Troy; he hits you to a span twelve-score level:—who said he came home hurt to-day? why, this will do Helen's heart good now! ha! that I could see Troilus now!
Enter Helenus.
Cres. Who's that black man, uncle?
Pand. That is Helenus.—I marvel where Troilus is all this while;—that is Helenus.—I think Troilus went not forth to-day;—that's Helenus.
Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle?
Pand. Helenus! No, yes; he'll fight indifferently well.—I marvel in my heart what's become of Troilus:—Hark! do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?—Helenus is a priest, and keeps a whore; he'll fight for his whore, or he's no true priest, I warrant him.
Enter Troilus passing over.
Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
Pand. Where, yonder? that's Deiphobus: No, I lie. I lie, that's Troilus! there's a man, niece! 280 hem! O brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry, and flower of fidelity!
Cres. Peace, for shame, peace!
Pand. Nay, but mark him then! O brave Troilus! there's a man of men, niece! look you how his sword is bloody, and his helmet more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw two-and-twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way! had I a sister were a grace, and a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice of them. O admirable man! Paris, Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant, Helen, to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to boot.
Enter common Soldiers passing over.
Cres. Here come more.
Pand. Asses, fools, dolts, dirt, and dung, stuff, and lumber, porridge after meat; but I could live and die with Troilus. Ne'er look, niece, ne'er look, the lions are gone: apes and monkeys, the fag end of the creation. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.
Cres. There's Achilles among the Greeks, he's a brave man.
Pand. Achilles! a carman, a beast of burden; a very camel: have you any eyes, niece? do you know a man? is he to be compared with Troilus?
Enter Page.
Page. Sir, my lord Troilus would instantly speak with you.
Pand. Where boy, where?
Page. At his own house, if you think convenient.
Pand. Good boy, tell him I come instantly: I doubt he's wounded. Farewell, good niece. But I'll be with you by and by.
Cres. To bring me, uncle!
281 Pand. Ay, a token from prince Troilus.[Exit Pandar.
Cres. By the same token, you are a procurer, uncle.
Cressida alone.
A strange dissembling sex we women are:
Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive.
Long has my secret soul loved Troilus;
I drunk his praises from my uncle's mouth,
As if my ears could ne'er be satisfied:
Why then, why said I not, I love this prince?
How could my tongue conspire against my heart,
To say I loved him not? O childish love!
'Tis like an infant, froward in his play,
And what he most desires, he throws away.[Exit.
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, and Æneas.
Priam. After the expence of so much time and blood,
Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy;—
Deliver Helen, and all other loss
Shall be forgotten.—Hector, what say you to it?
Hect. Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I,
Yet there's no virgin of more tender heart,
More ready to cry out,—who knows the consequence?
Than Hector is; for modest doubt is mixed
With manly courage best: let Helen go.
If we have lost so many lives of ours,
To keep a thing not ours, not worth to us
The value of a man, what reason is there
Still to retain the cause of so much ill?
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Troil. Fye, fye, my noble brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as Asia's monarch, in a scale
Of common ounces thus?
Are fears and reasons fit to be considered,
When a king's fame is questioned?
Hect. Brother, she's not worth
What her defence has cost us.
Troil. What's aught, but as 'tis valued?
Hect. But value dwells not in opinion only:
It holds the dignity and estimation,
As well, wherein 'tis precious of itself,
As in the prizer: 'tis idolatry,
To make the service greater than the god.
Troil. We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
When we have worn them; the remaining food
Throw not away, because we now are full.
If you confess, 'twas wisdom Paris went;—
As you must needs, for you all cried, Go, go:—
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize;—
As you must needs, for you all clapped your hands,
And cried, Inestimable!—Why do you now
So under-rate the value of your purchase?
For, let me tell you, 'tis unmanly theft,
When we have taken what we fear to keep.
Æne. There's not the meanest spirit in our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended: None so noble,
Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfamed,
When Helen is the subject.
Priam. So says Paris,
Like one besotted on effeminate joys;
He has the honey still, but these the gall.
Æne. He not proposes merely to himself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But he would have the stain of Helen's rape
283
Wiped off, in honourable keeping her.
Hect. Troilus and Æneas, you have said;
If saying superficial things be reason.
But if this Helen be another's wife,
The moral laws of nature and of nations
Speak loud she be restored. Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more so. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless,
My sprightly brother, I incline to you
In resolution to defend her still:
For 'tis a cause on which our Trojan honour
And common reputation will depend.
Troil. Why there you touched the life of our design:
Were it not glory that we covet more
Than war and vengeance, (beasts' and women's pleasure)
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence; but oh! my brother,
She is a subject of renown and honour;
And I presume brave Hector would not lose
The rich advantage of his future fame
For the wide world's revenue:—I have business;
But glad I am to leave you thus resolved.
When such arms strike, ne'er doubt of the success.
Æn. May we not guess?
Troil. You may, and be deceived.[Exit Troil.
Hect. A woman, on my life: even so it happens,
Religion, state-affairs, whate'er's the theme,
It ends in woman still.
Enter Andromache.
Priam. See, here's your wife,
To make that maxim good.
Hect. Welcome, Andromache: your looks are chearful,
You bring some pleasing news.
Andro. Nothing that's serious.
284
Your little son Astyanax has employed me
As his ambassadress.
Hect. Upon what errand?
Andro. No less than that his grandfather this day
Would make him knight: he longs to kill a Grecian:
For should he stay to be a man, he thinks
You'll kill them all; and leave no work for him.
Priam. Your own blood, Hector.
Andro. And therefore he designs to send a challenge
To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles,
To prove they do not well to burn our fields,
And keep us cooped like prisoners in a town,
To lead this lazy life.
Hect. What sparks of honour
Fly from this child! the gods speak in him sure:
—It shall be so—I'll do't.
Priam. What means my son?
Hect. To send a challenge to the boldest Greek.
Is not that country ours? those fruitful fields
Washed by yon silver flood, are they not ours?
Those teeming vines that tempt our longing eyes,
Shall we behold them? shall we call them ours,
And dare not make them so? by heavens I'll know
Which of these haughty Grecians dares to think
He can keep Hector prisoner here in Troy.
Priam. If Hector only were a private man,
This would be courage; but in him 'tis madness.
The general safety on your life depends;
And, should you perish in this rash attempt,
Troy with a groan would feel her soul go out,
And breathe her last in you.
Æn. The task you undertake is hazardous:
Suppose you win, what would the profit be?
If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath
Your thundering arm, would all the rest depart?
Would Agamemnon, or his injured brother,
Set sail for this? then it were worth your danger.
But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake
285
Against whole heaps of theirs.
Priam. He tells you true.
Æn. Suppose one Ajax, or Achilles lost,
They can repair with more that single loss:
Troy has but one, one Hector.
Hect. No, Æneas!
What then art thou; and what is Troilus?
What will Astyanax be?
Priam. An Hector one day,
But you must let him live to be a Hector;
And who shall make him such, when you are gone?
Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms,
Or give his childhood lessons of the war?
Who shall defend the promise of his youth,
And make it bear in manhood? the young sapling
Is shrouded long beneath the mother-tree,
Before it be transplanted from its earth,
And trust itself for growth.
Hect. Alas, my father!
You have not drawn one reason from yourself,
But public safety, and my son's green years:
In this neglecting that main argument,
Trust me you chide my filial piety;
As if I could be won from my resolves
By Troy, or by my son, or any name
More dear to me than yours.
Priam. I did not name myself, because I know
When thou art gone, I need no Grecian sword
To help me die, but only Hector's loss.—
Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent?
Have you no right in Hector, as a wife?
Andro. I would be worthy to be Hector's wife:
And had I been a man, as my soul's one,
I had aspired a nobler name,—his friend.
How I love Hector,—need I say I love him?—
I am not but in him:
But when I see him arming for his honour,
His country and his gods, that martial fire,
286
That mounts his courage, kindles even to me:
And when the Trojan matrons wait him out
With prayers, and meet with blessings his return,
The pride of virtue beats within my breast,
To wipe away the sweat and dust of war,
And dress my hero glorious in his wounds.
Hect. Come to my arms, thou manlier virtue, come!
Thou better name than wife! would'st thou not blush
To hug a coward thus?[Embrace.
Priam. Yet still I fear!
Andro. There spoke a woman; pardon, royal sir;
Has he not met a thousand lifted swords
Of thick-ranked Grecians, and shall one affright him?
There's not a day but he encounters armies;
And yet as safe, as if the broad-brimmed shield,
That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death.
Hect. Thou know'st me well, and thou shalt praise me more;
Gods make me worthy of thee!
Andro. You shall be
My knight this day; you shall not wear a cause
So black as Helen's rape upon your breast.
Let Paris fight for Helen; guilt for guilt:
But when you fight for honour and for me,
Then let our equal gods behold an act,
They may not blush to crown.
Hect. Æneas, go,
And bear my challenge to the Grecian camp.
If there be one amongst the best of Greece,
Who holds his honour higher than his ease,
Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear;
Who loves his mistress more than in confession,
And dares avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers,—to him this challenge.
I have a lady of more truth and beauty,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow, with the trumpet's call,
Mid-way between their tents and these our walls,
287
Maintain what I have said. If any come,
My sword shall honour him; if none shall dare,
Then shall I say, at my return to Troy,
The Grecian dames are sun-burnt, and not worth
The splinter of a lance.
Æn. It shall be told them,
As boldly as you gave it.
Priam. Heaven protect thee![Exeunt.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pand. Yonder he stands, poor wretch! there stands he with such a look, and such a face, and such begging eyes! there he stands, poor prisoner!
Cress. What a deluge of words do you pour out, uncle, to say just nothing?
Pand. Nothing, do you call it! is that nothing, do you call that nothing? why he looks, for all the world, like one of your rascally malefactors, just thrown off the gibbet, with his cap down, his arms tied down, his feet sprunting, his body swinging. Nothing do you call it? this is nothing, with a vengeance!
Cress. Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a broken wing?
Pand. Why go to then, he cannot fly away then; then, that's certain, that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen him, when I said to him,—Take a good heart, man, and follow me; and fear no colours, and speak your mind, man: she can never stand you; she will fall, an' 'twere a leaf in autumn,—
Cress. Did you tell him all this, without my consent?
Pand. Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blabbed, they leered, their very corners 288 blabbed. But you'll say, your tongue said nothing. No, I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was better bred; your tongue kept its own counsel: nay, I'll say that for you, your tongue said nothing.—Well, such a shamefaced couple did I never see, days o'my life! so 'fraid of one another; such ado to bring you to the business! Well, if this job were well over, if ever I lose my pains again with an aukward couple, let me be painted in the sign-post for the labour in vain: Fye upon't, fye upon't! there's no conscience in't: all honest people will cry shame on't.
Cress. Where is this monster to be shown? what's to be given for a sight of him?
Pand. Why, ready money, ready money; you carry it about you: give and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as arrant a maid as you are. I was fain to use violence to him, to pull him hither: and he pulled, and I pulled: for you must know he's absolutely the strongest youth in Troy. T'other day he took Helen in one hand, and Paris in t'other, and danc'd 'em at one another at arms-end an' 'twere two moppets:—there was a back! there were bone and sinews! there was a back for you!
Cress. For these good procuring offices you'll be damned one day, uncle.
Pand. Who, I damned? Faith, I doubt I shall; by my troth I think I shall: nay if a man be damned for doing good, as thou say'st, it may go hard with me.
Cress. Then I'll not see prince Troilus; I'll not be accessary to your damnation.
Pand. How, not see prince Troilus? why I have engaged, I have promised, I have past my word. I care not for damning, let me alone for damning; I value not damning in comparison with my word. If I am damned, it shall be a good damning to thee, 289 girl, thou shalt be my heir; come, 'tis a virtuous girl; thou shalt help me to keep my word, thou shalt see prince Troilus.
Cress. The venture's great.
Pand. No venture in the world; thy mother ventured it for thee, and thou shalt venture it for my little cousin, that must be.
Cress. Weigh but my fears: Prince Troilus is young.—
Pand. Marry is he; there's no fear in that, I hope: the fear were, if he were old and feeble.
Cress. And I a woman.
Pand. No fear yet; thou art a woman, and he's a man; put them together, put them together.
Cress. And if I should be frail—
Pand. There's all my fear, that thou art not frail: thou should'st be frail, all flesh is frail.
Cress. Are you my uncle, and can give this counsel to your own brother's daughter?
Pand. If thou wert my own daughter a thousand
times over, I could do no better for thee; what
wouldst thou have, girl? he's a prince, and a young
prince and a loving young prince! an uncle, dost
thou call me? by Cupid, I am a father to thee; get
thee in, get thee in, girl, I hear him coming. And
do you hear, niece! I give you leave to deny a
little, 'twill be decent; but take heed of obstinacy,
that's a vice; no obstinacy, my dear niece.
[Exit Cressida.
Enter Troilus.
Troil. Now, Pandarus.
Pand. Now, my sweet prince! have you seen my niece? no, I know you have not.
Troil. No, Pandarus; I stalk about your doors.
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks,
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
290
And give me swift transportance to Elysium,
And fly with me to Cressida.
Pand. Walk here a moment more: I'll bring her strait.
Troil. I fear she will not come; most sure she will not.
Pand. How, not come, and I her uncle! why, I tell you, prince, she twitters at you. Ah poor sweet rogue! ah, little rogue, now does she think, and think, and think again of what must be betwixt you two. Oh sweet,—oh sweet—O—what, not come, and I her uncle?
Troil. Still thou flatter'st me; but pr'ythee flatter still; for I would hope; I would not wake out of my pleasing dream. Oh hope, how sweet thou art! but to hope always, and have no effect of what we hope!
Pand. Oh faint heart, faint heart! well, there's much good matter in these old proverbs! No, she'll not come, I warrant her; she has no blood of mine in her, not so much as will fill a flea. But if she does not come, and come, and come with a swing into your arms—I say no more, but she has renounced all grace, and there's an end.
Troil. I will believe thee: go then, but be sure.
Pand. No, you would not have me go; you are indifferent—shall I go, say you? speak the word then:—yet I care not: you may stand in your own light, and lose a sweet young lady's heart—well, I shall not go then.
Troil. Fly, fly, thou torturest me.
Pand. Do I so, do I so? do I torture you indeed? well, I will go.
Troil. But yet thou dost not go.
Pand. I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought: yet you think a man never does enough for you; I have been labouring in your business 291 like any moyle. I was with prince Paris this morning, to make your excuse at night for not supping at court; and I found him—faith, how do you think I found him? it does my heart good to think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for you.
Troil. Will you go then?—What's this to Cressida?
Pand. Why, you will not hear a man! what's this to Cressida? Why, I found him a-bed, a-bed with Helena, by my troth: 'Tis a sweet queen, a sweet queen; a very sweet queen,—but she's nothing to my cousin Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsy, a tawny moor to my cousin Cressida; and she lay with one white arm underneath the whoreson's neck: Oh such a white, lilly-white, round, plump arm as it was—and you must know it was stripped up to the elbows; and she did so kiss him, and so huggle him!—as who should say—
Troil. But still thou stayest:—what's this to Cressida?
Pand. Why, I made your excuse to your brother Paris; that I think's to Cressida:—but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers! t'other hand was under the bed-cloaths; that I saw not, I confess; that hand I saw not.
Troil. Again thou torturest me.
Pand. Nay, I was tortured too; old as I am, I
was tortured too: but for all that, I could make a
shift, to make him, to make your excuse, to make
your father—by Jove, when I think of that hand,
I am so ravished, that I know not what I say: I
was tortured too.
[Troilus turns away discontented.
Well, I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct
her; not come quotha, and I her uncle!
[Exit Pandarus.
Troil. I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round:
The imaginary relish is so sweet,
292
That it enchants my sense; what will it be,
When I shall taste that nectar?
It must be either death, or joy too fine
For the capacity of human powers.
I fear it much: and I do fear beside,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
As does a battle, when they charge on heaps
A flying enemy.
Re-enter Pandarus.
Pand. She's making her ready; she'll come strait: you must be witty now!—she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if she were frighted with a sprite; 'tis the prettiest villain! she fetches her breath so short, as 'twere a new-ta'en sparrow.
Troil. Just such a passion does heave up my breast!
My heart beats thicker than a feverish pulse:
I know not where I am, nor what I do;
Just like a slave, at unawares encountering
The eye of majesty.—Lead on, I'll follow.[Exeunt.
Enter Nestor, and Ulysses.
Ulys. I have conceived an embryo in my brain:
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nest. What is't, Ulysses?
Ulys. The seeded pride,
That has to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropped,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like ill,
To overtop us all.
Nest. That's my opinion.
Ulys. This challenge which Æneas brings from Hector,
However it be spread in general terms,
293
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
And will it wake him to the answer, think you?
Nest. It ought to do: whom can we else oppose,
Who could from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? the success of this,
Although particular, will give an omen
Of good or bad, even to the general cause.
Ulys. Pardon me, Nestor, if I contradict you:
Therefore 'tis fit Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our coarsest wares,
And think, perchance they'll sell; but, if they do not,
The lustre of our better, yet unshown,
Will show the better: let us not consent,
Our greatest warrior should be matched with Hector;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Shall be attended with strange followers.
Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what are they?
Ulys. What glory our Achilles gains from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent:
And we had better parch in Afric sun,
Than in his pride, should he 'scape Hector fair.
But grant he should be foiled;
Why then our common reputation suffers
In that of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The chance to fight with Hector: among ourselves,
Give him allowance as the braver man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off:
If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion,
That we have better men.
Nest. Now I begin to relish thy advice:
Come, let us go to Agamemnon strait,
To inform him of our project.
294
Ulys. 'Tis not ripe.
The skilful surgeon will not lance a sore,
Till nature has digested and prepared
The growing humours to her healing purpose;
Else must he often grieve the patient's sense,
When one incision, once well-timed, would serve.
Are not Achilles and dull Ajax friends?
Nest. As much as fools can be.
Ulys. That knot of friendship first must be untied,
Ere we can reach our ends; for, while they love each other,
Both hating us, will draw too strong a bias,
And all the camp will lean that way they draw;
For brutal courage is the soldier's idol:
So, if one prove contemptuous, backed by t'other,
'Twill give the law to cool and sober sense,
And place the power of war in madmen's hands.
Nest. Now I conceive you; were they once divided,
And one of them made ours, that one would check
The other's towering growth, and keep both low,
As instruments, and not as lords of war.
And this must be by secret coals of envy
Blown in their breast; comparisons of worth;
Great actions weighed of each; and each the best,
As we shall give him voice.
Ulys. Here comes Thersites,
Enter Thersites.
Who feeds on Ajax, yet loves him not, because he cannot love;
But, as a species differing from mankind,
Hates all he sees, and rails at all he knows;
But hates them most from whom he most receives,
Disdaining that his lot should be so low,
That he should want the kindness which he takes.
Nest. There's none so fit an engine:—Save ye, Thersites.
295
Ulys. Hail, noble Grecian! thou relief of toils,
Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war,
In whose converse our winter nights are short,
And summer days not tedious.
Thers. Hang you both.
Nest. How, hang us both!
Thers. But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool!
Thou sapless oak, that liv'st by wanting thought,
And now, in thy three hundredth year, repin'st
Thou shouldst be felled: hanging's a civil death,
The death of men; thou canst not hang; thy trunk
Is only fit for gallows to hang others.
Nest. A fine greeting.
Thers. A fine old dotard, to repine at hanging
At such an age! what saw the Gods in thee,
That a cock-sparrow should but live three years,
And thou shouldst last three ages? he's thy better;
He uses life; he treads himself to death.
Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years.
Thou stump of man, thou worn-out broom, thou lumber!
Nest. I'll hear no more of him, his poison works;
What, curse me for my age!
Ulys. Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custom:
What malice is there in a mirthful scene?
'Tis but a keen-edged sword, spread o'er with balm,
To heal the wound it makes.
Thers. Thou beg'st a curse?
May'st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor,
Who hangs on thee! thou lead'st him by the nose;
Thou play'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him;
And when thou hast contrived some dark design,
To lose a thousand Greeks, make dogs-meat of us,
Thou lay'st thy cuckoo's egg within his nest,
And mak'st him hatch it; teachest his remembrance
296
To lie, and say, the like of it was practised
Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain,
And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots.
Nest. I'm no man's fool.
Thers. Then be thy own, that's worse.
Nest. He'll rail all day.
Ulys. Then we shall learn all day.
Who forms the body to a graceful carriage,
Must imitate our aukward motions first;
The same prescription does the wise Thersites
Apply, to mend our minds. The same he uses
To Ajax, to Achilles, to the rest;
His satires are the physic of the camp.
Thers. Would they were poison to't, ratsbane and hemlock!
Nothing else can mend you, and those two brawny fools.
Ulys. He hits 'em right;
Are they not such, my Nestor?