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SCENE I.-Troy. A Room in PRIAM's Palace.
Enter PANDARUS and a Servant. Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not you follow the young lord Paris ?
Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs praise him.
Sero. The lord be praised !
Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord Pan darus.
Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better.
Pan. Grace ! not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles :—What musick is this?
Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is musick in parts.
Sero. At mine, sir, and theirs that love musick.
Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At whose request do these men play?
Serv. That's to’t, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person ; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,
Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?
Sero. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out that by her attributes ?
Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seeths.
Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed !
Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen ! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!
Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken musick.
Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance :-Nell, he is full of harmony.
Pon. Truly, lady, no.
Helen. O, sir,–
Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?
Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly.
Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me.But (marry) thus, my lord,--My dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus
Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord,–
Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to :-commends himself most affectionately to you.
Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our melancholy upon your head !
Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i'faith.
Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour offence.
Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you, that, if the king call for him at sụpper, you will make his excuse.
Helen. My lord Pandarus,
Pan. What says my sweet queen,-my very very sweet queen ?
Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he tonight?
Helen. Nay, but my lord,
Pan. What says my sweet queen ?–My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where he sups.
Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your disposer is sick.
Par. Well, I'll make excuse.
Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say— Cressida ? no, your poor disposer's sick.
Par. I spy.
Pan. You spy! what do you spy ?-Come, give me an instrument.-Now, sweet queen.
Helen. Why, this is kindly done.
Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.
Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.
Pan. He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.
Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now.
Helen. Ay, ay, pr’ythee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.
Pan. Ay, you may, you may.
Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !
Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Love, love, nothing but love, still more!
For, oh, love's bow
Not that it wounds,
These lovers cry—Oh! oh! they die !
Yet that, which seems the wound to kill,
So dying love lives still :
Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose.
Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.
Pan. Is this the generation of love ? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?-Why, they are vipers : Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day?
Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed tonight, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?
Helen. He hangs the lip at something ;-you know all, lord Pandarus.
Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen.— I long to hear how they sped to-day.--You'll remember your brother's excuse?
Par. To a hair.
[Exit. [A Retreut sounded,