John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

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.

  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

  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,

  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,

  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.

  SCENE II.

  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,

  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,

  That it enchants my sense; what will it be,

  When I shall taste that n
ectar?

  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.

  SCENE III. — The Camp.

  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,

  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,