“Cupide’s son, ensample of goodlihead,1 1beauty, excellence
O sword of knighthood, source of gentleness!
How might a wight in torment and in dread,
And healeless,1 you send as yet gladness? 1devoid of health
I hearteless, I sick, I in distress?
Since ye with me, nor I with you, may deal,
You neither send I may nor heart nor heal.
“Your letters full, the paper all y-plainted,1 1covered with
Commoved have mine heart’s pitt; complainings
I have eke seen with teares all depainted
Your letter, and how ye require me
To come again; the which yet may not be;
But why, lest that this letter founden were,
No mention I make now for fear.
“Grievous to me, God wot, is your unrest,
Your haste,1 and that the goddes’ ordinance 1impatience
It seemeth not ye take as for the best;
Nor other thing is in your remembrance,
As thinketh me, but only your pleasance;
But be not wroth, and that I you beseech,
For that I tarry is 1all for wicked speech.1 1to avoid malicious
gossip1
“For I have heard well more than I wend1 1weened, thought
Touching us two, how thinges have stood,
Which I shall with dissimuling amend;
And, be not wroth, I have eke understood
How ye ne do but holde me on hand;
But now 1no force,1 I cannot in you guess 1no matter1
But alle truth and alle gentleness.
“Comen I will, but yet in such disjoint1 1jeopardy, critical
I stande now, that what year or what day position
That this shall be, that can I not appoint;
But in effect I pray you, as I may,
For your good word and for your friendship ay;
For truely, while that my life may dure,
As for a friend, ye may 1in me assure.1 1depend on me1
“Yet pray I you, 1on evil ye not take1 1do not take it ill1
That it is short, which that I to you write;
I dare not, where I am, well letters make;
Nor never yet ne could I well endite;
Eke 1great effect men write in place lite;1 1men write great matter
Th’ intent is all, and not the letter’s space; in little space1
And fare now well, God have you in his grace!
”La Vostre C.”
Though he found this letter “all strange,” and thought it like “a kalendes of change,” Troilus could not believe his lady so cruel as to forsake him; but he was put out of all doubt, one day that, as he stood in suspicion and melancholy, he saw a “coat- armour” borne along the street, in token of victory, before Deiphobus his brother. Deiphobus had won it from Diomede in battle that day; and Troilus, examining it out of curiosity, found within the collar a brooch which he had given to Cressida on the morning she left Troy, and which she had pledged her faith to keep for ever in remembrance of his sorrow and of him. At this fatal discovery of his lady’s untruth,
Great was the sorrow and plaint of Troilus;
But forth her course Fortune ay gan to hold;
Cressida lov’d the son of Tydeus,
And Troilus must weep in cares cold.
Such is the world, whoso it can behold!
In each estate is little hearte’s rest;
God lend1 us each to take it for the best! 1grant
In many a cruel battle Troilus wrought havoc among the Greeks, and often he exchanged blows and bitter words with Diomede, whom he always specially sought; but it was not their lot that either should fall by the other’s hand. The poet’s purpose, however, he tells us, is to relate, not the warlike deeds of Troilus, which Dares has fully told, but his love-fortunes:
Beseeching ev’ry lady bright of hue,
And ev’ry gentle woman, 1what she be,1 1whatsoever she be1
Albeit that Cressida was untrue,
That for that guilt ye be not wroth with me;
Ye may her guilt in other bookes see;
And gladder I would writen, if you lest,
Of Penelope’s truth, and good Alceste.
Nor say I not this only all for men,
But most for women that betrayed be
Through false folk (God give them sorrow, Amen!)
That with their greate wit and subtilty
Betraye you; and this commoveth me
To speak; and in effect you all I pray,
Beware of men, and hearken what I say.
Go, little book, go, little tragedy!
There God my maker, yet ere that I die,
So send me might to make some comedy!
But, little book, 1no making thou envy,1 1be envious of no poetry1
But subject be unto all poesy;
And kiss the steps, where as thou seest space,
Of Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, Stace.
And, for there is so great diversity
In English, and in writing of our tongue,
So pray I God, that none miswrite thee,
Nor thee mismetre for default of tongue!
And read whereso thou be, or elles sung,
That thou be understanden, God I ‘seech!1 1beseech
But yet to purpose of my 1rather speech.1 1earlier subject1
The wrath, as I began you for to say,
Of Troilus the Greekes boughte dear;
For thousandes his handes 1made dey,1 1made to die1
As he that was withouten any peer,
Save in his time Hector, as I can hear;
But, well-away! save only Godde’s will,
Dispiteously him slew the fierce Achill’.
And when that he was slain in this mannere,
His lighte ghost1 full blissfully is went 1spirit
Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere
In converse leaving ev’ry element;
And there he saw, with full advisement,1 1observation, understanding
Th’ erratic starres heark’ning harmony,
With soundes full of heav’nly melody.
And down from thennes fast he gan advise1 1consider, look on
This little spot of earth, that with the sea
Embraced is; and fully gan despise
This wretched world, and held all vanity,
1To respect of the plein felicity1 1in comparison with
That is in heav’n above; and, at the last, the full felicity1
Where he was slain his looking down he cast.
And in himself he laugh’d right at the woe
Of them that wepte for his death so fast;
And damned1 all our works, that follow so 1condemned
The blinde lust, the which that may not last,
And shoulden1 all our heart on heaven cast; 1while we should
And forth he wente, shortly for to tell,
Where as Mercury sorted1 him to dwell. 1allotted
Such fine1 hath, lo! this Troilus for love! 1end
Such fine hath all his 1greate worthiness!1 1exalted royal rank1
Such fine hath his estate royal above!
Such fine his lust,1 such fine hath his nobless! 1pleasure
Such fine hath false worlde’s brittleness!1 1fickleness, instability
And thus began his loving of Cresside,
As I have told; and in this wise he died.
O young and freshe folke, 1he or she,1 1of either sex1
In which that love upgroweth with your age,
Repaire home from worldly vanity,
And 1of your heart upcaste the visage1 1”lift up the countenance
To thilke God, that after his image of your heart.”1
You made, and think that all is but a fair,
This world that passeth soon, as flowers fair!
And love Him, the which that, right for love,
Upon a cross, our soules
for to bey,1 1buy, redeem
First starf,1 and rose, and sits in heav’n above; 1died
For he will false1 no wight, dare I say, 1deceive, fail
That will his heart all wholly on him lay;
And since he best to love is, and most meek,
What needeth feigned loves for to seek?
Lo! here of paynims1 cursed olde rites! 1pagans
Lo! here what all their goddes may avail!
Lo! here this wretched worlde’s appetites! 1end and reward
Lo! here the 1fine and guerdon for travail,1 of labour1
Of Jove, Apollo, Mars, and such rascaille1 1rabble
Lo! here the form of olde clerkes’ speech,
In poetry, if ye their bookes seech!1 1seek, search
L’Envoy of Chaucer.
O moral Gower! this book I direct.
To thee, and to the philosophical Strode,
To vouchesafe, where need is, to correct,
Of your benignities and zeales good.
And to that soothfast Christ that 1starf on rood1 1died on the cross1
With all my heart, of mercy ever I pray,
And to the Lord right thus I speak and say:
“Thou One, and Two, and Three, 1etern on live,1 1eternally living1
That reignest ay in Three, and Two, and One,
Uncircumscrib’d, and all may’st circumscrive,1 1comprehend
From visible and invisible fone1 1foes
Defend us in thy mercy ev’ry one;
So make us, Jesus, 1for thy mercy dign,1 1worthy of thy mercy1
For love of Maid and Mother thine benign!”
Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA by William Shakespeare
This tragedy is believed to have been written by Shakespeare in 1602. Throughout the play, the tone alternates between bawdy comedy and tragic gloom, proving problematic for the audience to respond to the characters. For many critics, Troilus and Cressida is the most ambiguous of Shakespeare’s plays, appearing on one level a simple narration of stories based on the Greek myths of Troy, while on another level, it offers a parody of Elizabethan society, with subtle undertones probing public morality of the time. The original source of the play is Chaucer’s famous poem, which deals with the tragic love, betrayal and deaths of Troilus and Criseyde.
The 1609 Quarto title page
CONTENTS
Dramatis Personæ
Prologue.
Act I. Scene I.
Act I. Scene II.
Act I. Scene III.
Act II. Scene I.
Act II. Scene II.
Act II. Scene III.
Act III. Scene I.
Act III. Scene II.
Act III. Scene III.
Act IV. Scene I.
Act IV. Scene II.
Act IV. Scene III.
Act IV. Scene IV.
Act IV. Scene V.
Act V. Scene I.
Act V. Scene II.
Act V. Scene III.
Act V. Scene IV.
Act V. Scene V.
Act V. Scene VI.
Act V. Scene VII.
Act V. Scene VIII.
Act V. Scene IX.
Act V. Scene X.
Matthew Kelly as Pandarus in a recent Globe production of the play
Dramatis Personæ
PRIAM, King of Troy.
HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, & HELENUS: his Sons.
MARGARELON, a Bastard Son of Priam.
ÆNEAS & ANTENOR, Trojan Commanders.
CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the Greeks.
PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida.
AGAMEMNON, the Grecian General.
MENELAUS, his Brother.
ACHILLES, AJAX, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, & PATROCLUS: Grecian Commanders.
THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.
ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilus.
Servant to Paris.
Servant to Diomedes.
HELEN, Wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector.
CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam; a prophetess.
CRESSIDA, Daughter to Calchas.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
SCENE. — Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.
Prologue.
In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore 5
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
The ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen,
With wanton Paris sleeps; and that’s the quarrel. 10
To Tenedos they come,
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their war-like fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city, 15
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 20
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come
A prologue arm’d, but not in confidence
Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited
In like conditions as our argument, 25
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are: 30
Now good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war.
Act I. Scene I.
Troy. Before PRIAM’S Palace.
Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet, I’ll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within? 5
Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! has none.
Pan. Will this gear ne’er be mended?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; 10
But I am weaker than a woman’s tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skilless as unpractis’d infancy.
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I’ll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. 15
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.
Tro. Still have I tarried. 20
Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e’er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam’s royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 25
So, traitor! ‘when she comes’! — When is she thence?
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
Tro. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,
As wedged with a
sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 30
I have — as when the sun doth light a storm —
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile;
But sorrow, that is couch’d in seeming gladness,
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 428
