« 前へ次へ »
Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
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
lord Paris ?
Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ;. I must needs praise him.
Serv. The lord be praised !
Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord Pandarus.
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.
Pan. Know you the musicians ?
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. 8
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.
Pan. Truly, lady, no.
Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen :My lord, will
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 Panda rus; 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
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 supper, you will make his excuse.
Helen. My lord Pandarus,
Pan. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
9 Parts of a song.
Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups
Helen. Nay, but my lord,
Pan. What says my sweet queen ?-My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where
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 sayCressida ? 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. 0, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !
1 Wide of your mark.
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 to-night, 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 Pandarųs.