Pandarus. Fair be to you, my lord, and t...

Pandarus. 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.

Pandarus. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair

prince, here is good broken music.

Paris. 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.

Pandarus. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir,---

Pandarus. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

Paris. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.

Pandarus. 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.

Pandarus. 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,---

Pandarus. Go to, sweet queen, to go:---commends himself most

affectionately to you,---

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,

our melancholy upon your head!

Pandarus. Sweet queen, sweet queen! that's a sweet queen, i' faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.

Pandarus. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall 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,---

Pandarus. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

Paris. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?

Helen. Nay, but, my lord,---

Pandarus. What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out

with you. You must not know where he sups.

Paris. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

Pandarus. No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your

disposer is sick.

Paris. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pandarus. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,

your poor disposer's sick.

Paris. I spy.

Pandarus. You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an

instrument. Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pandarus. 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.

Pandarus. He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

Pandarus. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing

you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou

hast a fine forehead.

Pandarus. Ay, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.

O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Pandarus. Love! ay, that it shall, i' faith.

Paris. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

Pandarus. In good troth, it begins so.

[Sings]

Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, O, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe:

The shaft confounds,

Not that it wounds,

But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!

Yet that which seems the wound to kill,

Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still:

Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!1610

Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!

Heigh-ho!

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.

Paris. 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.

Pandarus. 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?

Paris. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the

gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed to-day,

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.

Pandarus. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they

sped to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?

Paris. To a hair.

Pandarus. Farewell, sweet queen.

Helen. Commend me to your niece.

Pandarus. I will, sweet queen.

[Exit]

[A retreat sounded]

Paris. They're come from field: let us to Priam's hall,

To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you

To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,

With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,

Shall more obey than to the edge of steel

Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more

Than all the island kings,---disarm great Hector.

Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;

Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty

Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,

Yea, overshines ourself.

Paris. Sweet, above thought I love thee.

[Exeunt]

Shakespeare, William, Troilus and Cressida, Act 3, Scene 1