Troilus and Cressida — Act 1, Scene 3

AGAMEMNON

Princes,What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?The ample proposition that hope makesIn all designs begun on earth belowFails in the promised largeness: cheques and disastersGrow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,Infect the sound pine and divert his grainTortive and errant from his course of growth.Nor, princes, is it matter new to usThat we come short of our suppose so farThat after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand;Sith every action that hath gone before,Whereof we have record, trial did drawBias and thwart, not answering the aim,And that unbodied figure of the thoughtThat gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works,And call them shames? which are indeed nought elseBut the protractive trials of great JoveTo find persistive constancy in men:The fineness of which metal is not foundIn fortune's love; for then the bold and coward,The wise and fool, the artist and unread,The hard and soft seem all affined and kin:But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,Puffing at all, winnows the light away;And what hath mass or matter, by itselfLies rich in virtue and unmingled.

NESTOR

With due observance of thy godlike seat,Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall applyThy latest words. In the reproof of chanceLies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,How many shallow bauble boats dare sailUpon her patient breast, making their wayWith those of nobler bulk!But let the ruffian Boreas once enrageThe gentle Thetis, and anon beholdThe strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,Bounding between the two moist elements,Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boatWhose weak untimber'd sides but even nowCo-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled,Or made a toast for Neptune. Even soDoth valour's show and valour's worth divideIn storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightnessThe herd hath more annoyance by the breezeThan by the tiger; but when the splitting windMakes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of courageAs roused with rage with rage doth sympathize,And with an accent tuned in selfsame keyRetorts to chiding fortune.

ULYSSES

Agamemnon,Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit.In whom the tempers and the minds of allShould be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks.Besides the applause and approbation To which,

ULYSSES

most mighty for thy place and sway,

ULYSSES

And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out lifeI give to both your speeches, which were suchAs Agamemnon and the hand of GreeceShould hold up high in brass, and such againAs venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-treeOn which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish earsTo his experienced tongue, yet let it please both,Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.

AGAMEMNON

Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expectThat matter needless, of importless burden,Divide thy lips, than we are confident,When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,We shall hear music, wit and oracle.

ULYSSES

Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,But for these instances.The specialty of rule hath been neglected:And, look, how many Grecian tents do standHollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.When that the general is not like the hiveTo whom the foragers shall all repair,What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.The heavens themselves, the planets and this centreObserve degree, priority and place,Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,Office and custom, in all line of order;And therefore is the glorious planet SolIn noble eminence enthroned and spheredAmidst the other; whose medicinable eyeCorrects the ill aspects of planets evil,And posts, like the commandment of a king,Sans cheque to good and bad: but when the planetsIn evil mixture to disorder wander,What plagues and what portents! what mutiny!What raging of the sea! shaking of earth!Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors,Divert and crack, rend and deracinateThe unity and married calm of statesQuite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked,Which is the ladder to all high designs,Then enterprise is sick! How could communities,Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities,Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,The primogenitive and due of birth,Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,But by degree, stand in authentic place?Take but degree away, untune that string,And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meetsIn mere oppugnancy: the bounded watersShould lift their bosoms higher than the shoresAnd make a sop of all this solid globe:Strength should be lord of imbecility,And the rude son should strike his father dead:Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong,Between whose endless jar justice resides,Should lose their names, and so should justice too.Then every thing includes itself in power,Power into will, will into appetite;And appetite, an universal wolf,So doubly seconded with will and power,Must make perforce an universal prey,And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,This chaos, when degree is suffocate,Follows the choking.And this neglection of degree it isThat by a pace goes backward, with a purposeIt hath to climb. The general's disdain'dBy him one step below, he by the next,That next by him beneath; so every step,Exampled by the first pace that is sickOf his superior, grows to an envious feverOf pale and bloodless emulation:And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.

NESTOR

Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'dThe fever whereof all our power is sick.

AGAMEMNON

The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,What is the remedy?

ULYSSES

The great Achilles, whom opinion crownsThe sinew and the forehand of our host,Having his ear full of his airy fame,Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tentLies mocking our designs: with him PatroclusUpon a lazy bed the livelong dayBreaks scurril jests;And with ridiculous and awkward action,Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,Thy topless deputation he puts on,And, like a strutting player, whose conceitLies in his hamstring, and doth think it richTo hear the wooden dialogue and sound'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,--Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seemingHe acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared,Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'dWould seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuffThe large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,As he being drest to some oration.'That's done, as near as the extremest endsOf parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife:Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent!'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,Arming to answer in a night alarm.'And then, forsooth, the faint defects of ageMust be the scene of mirth; to cough and spit,And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sportSir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus;Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split allIn pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion,All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,Severals and generals of grace exact,Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,Success or loss, what is or is not, servesAs stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

NESTOR

And in the imitation of these twain--Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crownsWith an imperial voice--many are infect.Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his headIn such a rein, in full as proud a placeAs broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,To match us in comparisons with dirt,To weaken and discredit our exposure,How rank soever rounded in with danger.

ULYSSES

They tax our policy, and call it cowardice,Count wisdom as no member of the war,Forestall prescience, and esteem no actBut that of hand: the still and mental parts,That do contrive how many hands shall strike,When fitness calls them on, and know by measureOf their observant toil the enemies' weight,--Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war;So that the ram that batters down the wall,For the great swing and rudeness of his poise,They place before his hand that made the engine,Or those that with the fineness of their soulsBy reason guide his execution.

NESTOR

Let this be granted, and Achilles' horseMakes many Thetis' sons.

AGAMEMNON

What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

MENELAUS

From Troy.

AGAMEMNON

What would you 'fore our tent?

AENEAS

Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?

AGAMEMNON

Even this.

AENEAS

May one, that is a herald and a prince,Do a fair message to his kingly ears?

AGAMEMNON

With surety stronger than Achilles' arm'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voiceCall Agamemnon head and general.

AENEAS

Fair leave and large security. How mayA stranger to those most imperial looksKnow them from eyes of other mortals?

AGAMEMNON

How!

AENEAS

Ay;I ask, that I might waken reverence,And bid the cheek be ready with a blushModest as morning when she coldly eyesThe youthful Phoebus:Which is that god in office, guiding men?Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

AGAMEMNON

This Trojan scorns us; or the men of TroyAre ceremonious courtiers.

AENEAS

Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and,Jove's accord,Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas,Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!The worthiness of praise distains his worth,If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:But what the repining enemy commends,That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure,transcends.

AGAMEMNON

Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself AEneas?

AENEAS

Ay, Greek, that is my name.

AGAMEMNON

What's your affair I pray you?

AENEAS

Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

AGAMEMNON

He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.

AENEAS

Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,To set his sense on the attentive bent,And then to speak.

AGAMEMNON

Speak frankly as the wind;It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour:That thou shalt know. Trojan, he is awake,He tells thee so himself.

AENEAS

Trumpet, blow loud,Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;And every Greek of mettle, let him know,What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.

AENEAS

We have, great Agamemnon, here in TroyA prince call'd Hector,--Priam is his father,--Who in this dull and long-continued truceIs rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet,And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!If there be one among the fair'st of GreeceThat holds his honour higher than his ease,That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,That knows his valour, and knows not his fear,That loves his mistress more than in confession,With truant vows to her own lips he loves,And dare avow her beauty and her worthIn other arms than hers,--to him this challenge.Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,Than ever Greek did compass in his arms,And will to-morrow with his trumpet callMidway between your tents and walls of Troy,To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:If any come, Hector shall honour him;If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worthThe splinter of a lance. Even so much.

AGAMEMNON

This shall be told our lovers, Lord AEneas;If none of them have soul in such a kind,We left them all at home: but we are soldiers;And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,That means not, hath not, or is not in love!If then one is, or hath, or means to be,That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

NESTOR

Tell him of Nestor, one that was a manWhen Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now;But if there be not in our Grecian hostOne noble man that hath one spark of fire,To answer for his love, tell him from meI'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaverAnd in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,And meeting him will tell him that my ladyWas fairer than his grandam and as chasteAs may be in the world: his youth in flood,I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.

AENEAS

Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

ULYSSES

Amen.

AGAMEMNON

Fair Lord AEneas, let me touch your hand;To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.Achilles shall have word of this intent;So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent:Yourself shall feast with us before you goAnd find the welcome of a noble foe.

ULYSSES

Nestor!

NESTOR

What says Ulysses?

ULYSSES

I have a young conception in my brain;Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

NESTOR

What is't?

ULYSSES

This 'tis:Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded prideThat hath to this maturity blown upIn rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd,Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,To overbulk us all.

NESTOR

Well, and how?

ULYSSES

This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,However it is spread in general name,Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

NESTOR

The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,Whose grossness little characters sum up:And, in the publication, make no strain,But that Achilles, were his brain as barrenAs banks of Libya,--though, Apollo knows,'Tis dry enough,--will, with great speed of judgment,Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purposePointing on him.

ULYSSES

And wake him to the answer, think you?

NESTOR

Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,That can from Hector bring his honour off,If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;For here the Trojans taste our dear'st reputeWith their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,Our imputation shall be oddly poisedIn this wild action; for the success,Although particular, shall give a scantlingOf good or bad unto the general;And in such indexes, although small pricksTo their subsequent volumes, there is seenThe baby figure of the giant massOf things to come at large. It is supposedHe that meets Hector issues from our choiceAnd choice, being mutual act of all our souls,Makes merit her election, and doth boil,As 'twere from us all, a man distill'dOut of our virtues; who miscarrying,What heart receives from hence the conquering part,To steel a strong opinion to themselves?Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,In no less working than are swords and bowsDirective by the limbs.

ULYSSES

Give pardon to my speech:Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,The lustre of the better yet to show,Shall show the better. Do not consentThat ever Hector and Achilles meet;For both our honour and our shame in thisAre dogg'd with two strange followers.

NESTOR

I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?

ULYSSES

What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,Were he not proud, we all should share with him:But he already is too insolent;A nd we were better parch in Afric sunThan in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd,Why then, we did our main opinion crushIn taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;And, by device, let blockish Ajax drawThe sort to fight with Hector: among ourselvesGive him allowance for the better man;For that will physic the great MyrmidonWho broils in loud applause, and make him fallHis crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,Yet go we under our opinion stillThat we have better men. But, hit or miss,Our project's life this shape of sense assumes:Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.

NESTOR

Ulysses,Now I begin to relish thy advice;And I will give a taste of it forthwithTo Agamemnon: go we to him straight.Two curs shall tame each other: pride aloneMust tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.