John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  I will not rage.

  Hect. Nor grieve beyond a man?

  Troil. I will not be a woman.

  Hect. Do not, brother:

  And I will tell my news in terms so mild,

  So tender, and so fearful to offend,

  As mothers use to sooth their froward babes;

  Nay, I will swear, as you have sworn to me,

  That, if some gust of passion swell your soul

  To words intemperate, I will bear with you.

  Troil. What would this pomp of preparation mean?

  Come you to bring me news of Priam’s death,

  Or Hecuba’s?

  Hect. The gods forbid I should!

  But what I bring is nearer you, more close,

  An ill more yours.

  Troil. There is but one that can be.

  Hect. Perhaps, ’tis that.

  Troil. I’ll not suspect my fate

  So far; I know I stand possessed of that.

  Hect. ’Tis well: consider at whose house I find you.

  Troil. Ha!

  Hect. Does it start you? I must wake you more;

  Antenor is exchanged.

  Troil. For whom?

  Hect. Imagine.

  Troil. It comes, like thunder grumbling in a cloud,

  Before the dreadful break: If here it fall,

  The subtle flame will lick up all my blood,

  And, in a moment, turn my heart to ashes.

  Hect. That Cressida for Antenor is exchanged,

  Because I knew ’twas harsh, I would not tell;

  Not all at once; but by degrees and glimpses

  I let it in, lest it might rush upon you,

  And quite o’erpower your soul: In this, I think,

  I showed a friend: your part must follow next;

  Which is, to curb your choler, tame your grief,

  And bear it like a man.

  Troil. I think I do,

  That I yet live to hear you. But no more;

  Hope for no more; for, should some goddess offer

  To give herself and all her heaven in change,

  I would not part with Cressida: So return

  This answer as my last.

  Hect. ‘Twill not be taken:

  Nor will I bear such news.

  Troil. You bore me worse.

  Hect. Worse for yourself; not for the general state,

  And all our common safety, which depends

  On freed Antenor’s wisdom.

  Troil. You would say,

  That I’m the man marked out to be unhappy,

  And made the public sacrifice for Troy.

  Hect. I would say so indeed; for, can you find

  A fate more glorious than to be that victim?

  If parting from a mistress can procure

  A nation’s happiness, show me that prince

  Who dares to trust his future fame so far,

  To stand the shock of annals, blotted thus, —

  He sold his country for a woman’s love!

  Troil. O, she’s my life, my being, and my soul!

  Hect. Suppose she were, — which yet I will not grant, —

  You ought to give her up.

  Troil. For whom?

  Hect. The public.

  Troil. And what are they, that I should give up her,

  To make them happy? Let me tell you, brother,

  The public is the lees of vulgar slaves;

  Slaves, with the minds of slaves; so born, so bred.

  Yet such as these, united in a herd,

  Are called, the public! Millions of such cyphers

  Make up the public sum. An eagle’s life

  Is worth a world of crows. Are princes made

  For such as these; who, were one soul extracted

  From all their beings, could not raise a man? —

  Hect. And what are we, but for such men as these?

  ’Tis adoration, some say, makes a god:

  And who should pay it, where would be their altars,

  Were no inferior creatures here on earth?

  Even those, who serve, have their expectancies,

  Degrees of happiness, which they must share,

  Or they’ll refuse to serve us.

  Troil. Let them have it;

  Let them eat, drink, and sleep; the only use

  They have of life.

  Hect. You take all these away,

  Unless you give up Cressida.

  Troil. Forbear:

  Let Paris give up Helen; she’s the cause,

  And root, of all this mischief.

  Hect. Your own suffrage

  Condemns you there: you voted for her stay.

  Troil. If one must stay, the other shall not go.

  Hect. She shall not?

  Troil. Once again I say, she shall not.

  Hect. Our father has decreed it otherwise.

  Troil. No matter.

  Hect. How! no matter, Troilus?

  A king, a father’s will!

  Troil. When ’tis unjust.

  Hect. Come, she shall go.

  Troil. She shall? then I am dared.

  Hect. If nothing else will do.

  Troil. Answer me first,

  And then I’ll answer that, — be sure I will, —

  Whose hand sealed this exchange?

  Hect. My father’s first;

  Then all the council’s after.

  Troil. Was yours there?

  Hect. Mine was there too.

  Troil. Then you’re no more my friend:

  And for your sake, — now mark me what I say, —

  She shall not go.

  Hect. Go to; you are a boy.

  Troil. A boy! I’m glad I am not such a man,

  Not such as thou, a traitor to thy brother;

  Nay, more, thy friend: But friend’s a sacred name,

  Which none but brave and honest men should wear:

  In thee ’tis vile; ’tis prostitute; ’tis air;

  And thus, I puff it from me.

  Hect. Well, young man,

  Since I’m no friend, (and, oh, that e’er I was,

  To one so far unworthy!) bring her out;

  Or, by our father’s soul, of which no part

  Did e’er descend to thee, I’ll force her hence.

  Troil. I laugh at thee.

  Hect. Thou dar’st not.

  Troil. I dare more,

  If urged beyond my temper: Prove my daring,

  And see which of us has the larger share

  Of our great father’s soul.

  Hect. No more! — thou know’st me.

  Troil. I do; and know myself.

  Hect. All this, ye gods!

  And for the daughter of a fugitive,

  A traitor to his country!

  Troil. ’Tis too much.

  Hect. By heaven, too little; for I think her common.

  Troil. How, common!

  Hect. Common as the tainted shambles,

  Or as the dust we tread.

  Troil. By heaven, as chaste as thy Andromache. [Hector lays his hand on Troilus’s arm, Troilus does the same to him.

  Hect. What, namest thou them together!

  Troil. No, I do not:

  Fair Cressida is first; as chaste as she,

  But much more fair.

  Hect. O, patience, patience, heaven!

  Thou tempt’st me strangely: should I kill thee now,

  I know not if the gods can he offended,

  Or think I slew a brother: But, begone!

  Begone, or I shall shake thee into atoms;

  Thou know’st I can.

  Troil. I care not if you could.

  Hect. [walking off.]

  I thank the gods, for calling to my mind

  My promise, that no words of thine should urge me

  Beyond the bounds of reason: But in thee

  ’Twas brutal baseness, so forewarned, to fall

  Beneath the name of man; to spurn my kindness;

  And when I of
fered thee (thou know’st how loth!)

  The wholesome bitter cup of friendly counsel,

  To dash it in my face. Farewell, farewell,

  Ungrateful as thou art: hereafter use

  The name of brother; but of friend no more.[Going out.

  Troil. Wilt thou not break yet, heart? — stay, brother, stay;

  I promised too, but I have broke my vow,

  And you keep yours too well.

  Hect. What would’st thou more?

  Take heed, young man, how you too far provoke me!

  For heaven can witness, ’tis with much constraint

  That I preserve my faith.

  Troil. Else you would kill me?

  Hect. By all the gods I would.

  Troil. I’m satisfied.

  You have condemned me, and I’ll do’t myself.

  What’s life to him, who has no use of life?

  A barren purchase, held upon hard terms!

  For I have lost (oh, what have I not lost!)

  The fairest, dearest, kindest, of her sex;

  And lost her even by him, by him, ye gods!

  Who only could, and only should protect me!

  And if I had a joy beyond that love,

  A friend, have lost him too!

  Hect. Speak that again, —

  For I could hear it ever, — saidst thou not,

  That if thou hadst a joy beyond that love,

  It was a friend? O, saidst thou not, a friend!

  That doubting if was kind: then thou’rt divided;

  And I have still some part.

  Troil. If still you have,

  You do not care to have it.

  Hect. How, not care!

  Troil. No, brother, care not.

  Hect. Am I but thy brother?

  Troil. You told me, I must call you friend no more.

  Hect. How far my words were distant from my heart!

  Know, when I told thee so, I loved thee most.

  Alas! it is the use of human frailty,

  To fly to worst extremities with those,

  To whom we are most kind.

  Troil. Is’t possible!

  Then you are still my friend.

  Hect. Heaven knows I am!

  Troil. And can forgive the sallies of my passion?

  For I have been to blame, oh! much to blame;

  Have said such words, nay, done such actions too,

  (Base as I am!) that my awed conscious soul

  Sinks in my breast, nor dare I lift an eye

  On him I have offended.

  Hect. Peace be to thee,

  And calmness ever there. I blame thee not:

  I know thou lov’st; and what can love not do!

  I cast the wild disorderly account,

  Of all thy words and deeds, on that mad passion:

  I pity thee, indeed I pity thee.

  Troil. Do, for I need it: Let me lean my head

  Upon thy bosom, all my peace dwells there;

  Thou art some god, or much, much more than man!

  Hect. Alas, to lose the joys of all thy youth,

  One who deserved thy love!

  Troil. Did she deserve?

  Hect. She did.

  Troil. Then sure she was no common creature?

  Hect. I said it in my rage; I thought not so.

  Troil. That thought has blessed me! But to lose this love,

  After long pains, and after short possession!

  Hect. I feel it for thee: Let me go to Priam,

  I’ll break this treaty off; or let me fight:

  I’ll be thy champion, and secure both her,

  And thee, and Troy.

  Troil. It must not be, my brother;

  For then your error would be more than mine:

  I’ll bring her forth, and you shall bear her hence;

  That you have pitied me is my reward.

  Hect. Go, then; and the good gods restore her to thee,

  And, with her, all the quiet of thy mind!

  The triumph of this kindness be thy own;

  And heaven and earth this testimony yield,

  That friendship never gained a nobler field. [Exeunt severally.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Pandarus and Cressida meeting.

  Pand. Is’t possible? no sooner got but lost?

  The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad:

  A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke his neck!

  Cres. How now? what’s the matter? Who was here?

  Pand. Oh, oh!

  Cres. Why sigh you so? O, where’s my Troilus?

  Tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?

  Pand. Would I were as deep under the earth, as

  I am above it!

  Cres. O, the gods! What’s the matter?

  Pand. Pr’ythee get thee in; would thou hadst never been born!

  I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh, poor gentleman!

  A plague upon Antenor!

  Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what’s the matter?

  Pand. Thou must be gone, girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive rogue-priest, thy father: (and he’s my brother too; but that’s all one at this time:) A pox upon Antenor!

  Cres. O, ye immortal gods! I will not go.

  Pand. Thou must, thou must.

  Cres. I will not: I have quite forgot my father.

  I have no touch of birth, no spark of nature,

  No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me,

  As my dear Troilus!

  Enter Troilus.

  Pand. Here, here, here he comes, sweet duck!

  Cres. O, Troilus, Troilus! [They both weep over each other; she running into his arms.

  Pand. What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too. Oh, heart, — as the saying is, —

  — o heart, o heavy heart,

  Why sigh’st thou without breaking!

  Where he answers again,

  Because thou can’st not ease thy smart,

  By friendship nor by speaking.

  There was never a truer rhyme: let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs?

  Troil. Cressid, I love thee with so strange a purity,

  That the blest gods, angry with my devotions,

  More bright in zeal than that I pay their altars,

  Will take thee from my sight.

  Cres. Have the gods envy?

  Pand. Ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case!

  Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

  Troil. A hateful truth.

  Cres. What, and from Troilus too?

  Troil. From Troy and Troilus, — and suddenly;

  So suddenly, ’tis counted out by minutes.

  Cres. What, not an hour allowed for taking leave?

  Troil. Even that’s bereft us too: Our envious fates

  Jostle betwixt, and part the dear adieus

  Of meeting lips, clasped hands, and locked embraces.

  Æneas. [Within.] My lord, is the lady ready yet?

  Troil. Hark, you are called! — Some say, the genius so

  Cries, — Come, to him who instantly must die.

  Pand. Where are my tears? some rain to lay this wind,

  Or my heart will be blown up by the roots!

  Troil. Hear me, my love! be thou but true, like me.

  Cres. I true! how now, what wicked thought is this?

  Troil. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,

  For it is parting from us.

  I spoke not, be thou true, as fearing thee;

  But be thou true, I said, to introduce

  My following protestation, — be thou true,

  And I will see thee.

  Cres. You’ll be exposed to dangers.

  Troil. I care not; but be true.

  Cres. Be true, again?

  Troil. Hear why I speak it, love.

  The Grecian youths are full of Grecian a
rts:

  Alas! a kind of holy jealousy,

  Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,

  Makes me afraid how far you may be tempted.

  Cres. O heavens, you love me not!

  Troil. Die I a villain then!

  In this I do not call your faith in question,

  But my own merit.

  Cres. Fear not; I’ll be true.

  Troil. Then, fate, thy worst! for I will see thee, love;

  Not all the Grecian host shall keep me out,

  Nor Troy, though walled with fire, should hold me in.

  Æneas. [Within.] My lord, my lord Troilus! I must call you.

  Pand. A mischief call him! nothing but screech-owls? do, do, call again; you had best part them now in the sweetness of their love! — I’ll be hanged if this Æneas be the son of Venus, for all his bragging. Honest Venus was a punk; would she have parted 326 lovers? no, he has not a drop of Venus’ blood in him — honest Venus was a punk.

  Troil. [To Pand.] Pr’ythee, go out, and gain one

  minute more.

  Pand. Marry and I will: follow you your business; lose no time, ’tis very precious; go, bill again: I’ll tell the rogue his own, I warrant him.

  [Exit Pandarus.

  Cres. What have we gained by this one minute more?

  Troil. Only to wish another, and another,

  A longer struggling with the pangs of death.

  Cres. O, those, who do not know what parting is,

  Can never learn to die!

  Troil. When I but think this sight may be our last,

  If Jove could set me in the place of Atlas,

  And lay the weight of heaven and gods upon me,

  He could not press me more.

  Cres. Oh let me go, that I may know my grief;

  Grief is but guessed, while thou art standing by:

  But I too soon shall know what absence is.

  Troil. Why, ’tis to be no more; another name for death:

  ’Tis the sun parting from the frozen north;

  And I, methinks, stand on some icy cliff,

  To watch the last low circles that he makes,

  ‘Till he sink down from heaven! O only Cressida,

  If thou depart from me, I cannot live:

  I have not soul enough to last for grief,

  But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me.

  Cres. If I could live to hear it, I were false.

  But, as a careful traveller, who, fearing

  Assaults of robbers, leaves his wealth behind,

  I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks

  Bear but an empty casket.

  Troil. Then I will live, that I may keep that treasure;

  And, armed with this assurance, let thee go,

  Loose, yet secure as is the gentle hawk,

  When, whistled off, she mounts into the wind.

  Our love’s like mountains high above the clouds;

  Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet,