No More Learning

_Pand. _ She has been mightily made on by the Greeks: she takes most
wonderfully among 'em. Achilles kissed her, and Patroclus kissed her:
nay, and old Nestor put aside his grey beard, and brushed her with his
whiskers. Then comes me Agamemnon with his general's staff, diving
with a low bow even to the ground, and rising again, just at her lips:
and after him came Ulysses, and Ajax, and Menelaus: and they so pelted
her, i'faith, pitter patter, pitter patter, as thick as hail-stones.
And after that, a whole rout of 'em: never was a woman in Phrygia
better kissed.

_Troil. _ [_Aside. _] Hector said true: I find, I find it now!

_Pand. _ And, last of all, comes me Diomede, so demurely: that's a
notable sly rogue, I warrant him! mercy upon us, how he laid her on
upon the lips! for, as I told you, she's most mightily made on among
the Greeks. What, cheer up, I say, man! she has every one's good word.
I think, in my conscience, she was born with a caul upon her head.

_Troil. _ [_Aside. _] Hell, death, confusion, how he tortures me!

_Pand. _ And that rogue-priest, my brother, is so courted and treated
for her sake: the young sparks do so pull him about, and haul him by
the cassock: nothing but invitations to his tent, and his tent, and
his tent. Nay, and one of 'em was so bold, as to ask him, if she were
a virgin; and with that, the rogue, my brother, takes me up a little
god in his hand, and kisses it, and swears devoutly that she was; then
was I ready to burst my sides with laughing, to think what had passed
betwixt you two.

_Troil. _ O I can bear no more! she's falsehood all:
False by both kinds; for with her mother's milk
She sucked the infusion of her father's soul.
She only wants an opportunity;
Her soul's a whore already.

_Pand. _ What, would you make a monopoly of a woman's lips? a little
consolation, or so, might be allowed, one would think, in a lover's
absence.

_Troil. _ Hence from my sight!
Let ignominy brand thy hated name;
Let modest matrons at thy mention start;
And blushing virgins, when they read our annals,
Skip o'er the guilty page that holds thy legend,
And blots the noble work.

_Pand. _ O world, world: thou art an ungrateful patch of earth! Thus
the poor agent is despised! he labours painfully in his calling, and
trudges between parties: but when their turns are served, come out's
too good for him. I am mighty melancholy. I'll e'en go home, and shut
up my doors, and die o' the sullens, like an old bird in a cage!
[_Exit_ PANDARUS.

_Enter_ DIOMEDE _and_ THERSITES.

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] There, there he is; now let it work: now play thy
part, jealousy, and twinge 'em: put 'em between thy mill-stones, and
grind the rogues together.

_Diom. _ My lord, I am by Ajax sent to inform you,
This hour must end the truce.

_Æn. _ to _Troil. _ Contain yourself:
Think where we are.

_Diom. _ Your stay will be unsafe.

_Troil. _ It may, for those I hate.

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] Well said, Trojan: there's the first hit.

_Diom. _ Beseech you, sir, make haste; my own affairs call me another
way.

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] What affairs? what affairs? demand that,
dolt-head! the rogue will lose a quarrel, for want of wit to ask that
question.

_Troil. _ May I enquire where your affairs conduct you?

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] Well said again; I beg thy pardon.

_Diom. _ Oh, it concerns you not.

_Troil. _ Perhaps it does.

_Diom. _ You are too inquisitive: nor am I bound
To satisfy an enemy's request.

_Troil. _ You have a ring upon your finger, Diomede,
And given you by a lady.

_Diom. _ If it were,
'Twas given to one that can defend her gift.

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] So, so; the boars begin to gruntle at one another:
set up your bristles now, a'both sides: whet and foam, rogues.

_Troil. _ You must restore it, Greek, by heaven you must;
No spoil of mine shall grace a traitor's hand:
And, with it, give me back the broken vows
Of my false fair; which, perjured as she is,
I never will resign, but with my soul.

_Diom. _ Then thou, it seems, art that forsaken fool,
Who, wanting merit to preserve her heart,
Repines in vain to see it better placed;
But know, (for now I take a pride to grieve thee)
Thou art so lost a thing in her esteem,
I never heard thee named, but some scorn followed:
Thou wert our table-talk for laughing meals;
Thy name our sportful theme for evening-walks,
And intermissive hours of cooler love,
When hand in hand we went.

_Troil. _ Hell and furies!

_Thers. _ [_Aside. _] O well stung, scorpion!
Now Menelaus's Greek horns are out o' doors, there's a new cuckold
starts up on the Trojan side.

_Troil. _ Yet this was she, ye gods, that very she,
Who in my arms lay melting all the night;
Who kissed and sighed, and sighed and kissed again,
As if her soul flew upward to her lips,
To meet mine there, and panted at the passage;
Who, loth to find the breaking day, looked out,
And shrunk into my bosom, there to make
A little longer darkness.

_Diom. _ Plagues and tortures!

_Thers. _ Good, good, by Pluto! their fool's mad, to lose his harlot;
and our fool's mad, that t'other fool had her first. If I sought peace
now, I could tell 'em there's punk enough to satisfy 'em both: whore
sufficient! but let 'em worry one another, the foolish curs; they
think they never can have enough of carrion.

_Æn. _ My lords, this fury is not proper here
In time of truce; if either side be injured,
To-morrow's sun will rise apace, and then--

_Troil. _ And then! but why should I defer till then?
My blood calls now, there is no truce for traitors;
My vengeance rolls within my breast; it must,
It will have vent,-- [_Draws. _

_Diom. _ Hinder us not, Æneas,
My blood rides high as his; I trust thy honour,
And know thou art too brave a foe to break it. -- [_Draws. _

_Thers. _ Now, moon! now shine, sweet moon! let them have just light
enough to make their passes; and not enough to ward them.

_Æn. _ [_Drawing too. _]
By heaven, he comes on this, who strikes the first.
You both are mad; is this like gallant men,
To fight at midnight; at the murderer's hour;
When only guilt and rapine draw a sword?
Let night enjoy her dues of soft repose;
But let the sun behold the brave man's courage.
And this I dare engage for Diomede,--
For though I am,--he shall not hide his head,
But meet you in the very face of danger.

_Diom. _ [_Putting up. _]
Be't so; and were it on some precipice,
High as Olympus, and a sea beneath,
Call when thou dar'st, just on the sharpest point
I'll meet, and tumble with thee to destruction.

_Troil. _ A gnawing conscience haunts not guilty men,
As I'll haunt thee, to summon thee to this;
Nay, shouldst thou take the Stygian lake for refuge,
I'll plunge in after, through the boiling flames,
To push thee hissing down the vast abyss.

_Diom. _ Where shall we meet?

_Troil. _ Before the tent of Calchas.
Thither, through all your troops, I'll fight my way;
And in the sight of perjured Cressida,
Give death to her through thee.

_Diom. _ 'Tis largely promised;
But I disdain to answer with a boast.
Be sure thou shalt be met.

_Troil. _ And thou be found. [_Exeunt_ TROILUS _and_ ÆNEAS _one way;_
DIOMEDE _the other. _

_Thers. _ Now the furies take Æneas, for letting them sleep upon their
quarrel; who knows but rest may cool their brains, and make them rise
maukish to mischief upon consideration? May each of them dream he sees
his cockatrice in t'other's arms; and be stabbing one another in their
sleep, to remember them of their business when they wake: let them be
punctual to the point of honour; and, if it were possible, let both be
first at the place of execution; let neither of them have cogitation
enough, to consider 'tis a whore they fight for; and let them value
their lives at as little as they are worth: and lastly, let no
succeeding fools take warning by them; but, in imitation of them, when
a strumpet is in question,
Let them beneath their feet all reason trample,
And think it great to perish by example. [_Exit. _


ACT V. SCENE I.

HECTOR, _Trojans,_ ANDROMACHE.

_Hect. _ The blue mists rise from off the nether grounds,
And the sun mounts apace. To arms, to arms!
I am resolved to put to the utmost proof
The fate of Troy this day.

_Andr. _ [_Aside. _] Oh wretched woman, oh!

_Hect. _ Methought I heard you sigh, Andromache.

_Andr. _ Did you, my lord?

_Hect. _ Did you, my lord? you answer indirectly;
Just when I said, that I would put our fate
Upon the extremest proof, you fetched a groan;
And, as you checked yourself for what you did,
You stifled it and stopt. Come, you are sad.

_Andr. _ The gods forbid!

_Hect. _ What should the gods forbid?

_Andr. _ That I should give you cause of just offence.

_Hect. _ You say well; but you look not chearfully.
I mean this day to waste the stock of war,
And lay it prodigally out in blows.
Come, gird my sword, and smile upon me, love;
Like victory, come flying to my arms,
And give me earnest of desired success.

_Andr. _ The gods protect you, and restore you to me!

_Hect. _ What, grown a coward! Thou wert used, Andromache,
To give my courage courage; thou would'st cry,--
Go Hector, day grows old, and part of fame
Is ravished from thee by thy slothful stay.

_Andr. _ [_Aside. _]
What shall I do to seem the same I was? --
Come, let me gird thy fortune to thy side,
And conquest sit as close and sure as this.
[_She goes to gird his sword, and it falls. _
Now mercy, heaven! the gods avert this omen!

_Hect. _ A foolish omen! take it up again,
And mend thy error.

_Andr. _ I cannot, for my hand obeys me not;
But, as in slumbers, when we fain would run
From our imagined fears, our idle feet
Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward;
So now, when I would force myself to chear you,
My faltering tongue can give no glad presage:
Alas, I am no more Andromache.

_Hect. _ Why then thy former soul is flown to me;
For I, methinks, am lifted into air,
As if my mind, mastering my mortal part,
Would bear my exalted body to the gods.
Last night I dreamt Jove sat on Ida's top,
And, beckoning with his hand divine from far,
He pointed to a choir of demi-gods,
Bacchus and Hercules, and all the rest,
Who, free from human toils, had gained the pitch
Of blest eternity;--Lo there, he said,
Lo there's a place for Hector.

_Andr. _ Be to thy enemies this boding dream!

_Hect. _ Why, it portends me honour and renown.

_Andr. _ Such honour as the brave gain after death;
For I have dreamt all night of horrid slaughters,
Of trampling horses, and of chariot wheels
Wading in blood up to their axle-trees;
Of fiery demons gliding down the skies,
And Ilium brightened with a midnight blaze:
O therefore, if thou lovest me, go not forth.

_Hect. _ Go to thy bed again, and there dream better. --
Ho! bid my trumpet sound.

_Andr. _ No notes of sally, for the heaven's sweet sake!
'Tis not for nothing when my spirits droop;
This is a day when thy ill stars are strong,
When they have driven thy helpless genius down
The steep of heaven, to some obscure retreat.

_Hect. _ No more; even as thou lovest my fame, no more;
My honour stands engaged to meet Achilles.
What will the Grecians think, or what will he,
Or what will Troy, or what wilt thou thyself,
When once this ague fit of fear is o'er,
If I should lose my honour for a dream?

_Andr. _ Your enemies too well your courage know,
And heaven abhors the forfeit of rash vows,
Like spotted livers in a sacrifice.
I cannot, O I dare not let you go;
For, when you leave me, my presaging mind
Says, I shall never, never see you more.

_Hect. _ Thou excellently good, but oh too soft,
Let me not 'scape the danger of this day;
But I have struggling in my manly soul,
To see those modest tears, ashamed to fall,
And witness any part of woman in thee!
And now I fear, lest thou shouldst think it fear,
If, thus dissuaded, I refuse to fight,
And stay inglorious in thy arms at home.

_Andr. _ Oh, could I have that thought, I should not love thee;
Thy soul is proof to all things but to kindness;
And therefore 'twas that I forbore to tell thee,
How mad Cassandra, full of prophecy,
Ran round the streets, and, like a Bacchanal,
Cried,--Hold him, Priam, 'tis an ominous day;
Let him not go, for Hector is no more.

_Hect. _ Our life is short, but to extend that span
To vast eternity, is virtue's work;
Therefore to thee, and not to fear of fate,
Which once must come to all, give I this day.
But see thou move no more the like request;
For rest assured, that, to regain this hour,
To-morrow will I tempt a double danger.
Mean time, let destiny attend thy leisure;
I reckon this one day a blank of life.

_Enter_ TROILUS.

_Troil. _ Where are you, brother? now, in honour's name,
What do you mean to be thus long unarmed?
The embattled soldiers throng about the gates;
The matrons to the turrets' tops ascend,
Holding their helpless children in their arms,
To make you early known to their young eyes,
And Hector is the universal shout.

_Hect. _ Bid all unarm; I will not fight to-day.

_Troil. _ Employ some coward to bear back this news,
And let the children hoot him for his pains.
By all the gods, and by my just revenge,
This sun shall shine the last for them or us;
These noisy streets, or yonder echoing plains,
Shall be to-morrow silent as the grave.

_Andr. _ O brother, do not urge a brother's fate,
But, let this wreck of heaven and earth roll o'er,
And, when the storm is past, put out to sea.

_Troil. _ O now I know from whence his change proceeds;
Some frantic augur has observed the skies;
Some victim wants a heart, or crow flies wrong.
By heaven, 'twas never well, since saucy priests
Grew to be masters of the listening herd,
And into mitres cleft the regal crown;
Then, as the earth were scanty for their power,
They drew the pomp of heaven to wait on them.
Shall I go publish, Hector dares not fight,
Because a madman dreamt he talked with Jove?
What could the god see in a brain-sick priest,
That he should sooner talk to him than me?

_Hect. _ You know my name's not liable to fear.

_Troil. _ Yes, to the worst of fear,--to superstition.
But whether that, or fondness of a wife,
(The more unpardonable ill) has seized you,
Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles,
And that Polyxena has begged your life.

_Hect. _ How! that my life is begged, and by my sister?

_Troil. _ Ulysses so informed me at our parting,
With a malicious and disdainful smile:
'Tis true, he said not, in broad words, you feared;
But in well-mannered terms 'twas so agreed,
Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector.

_Hect. _ He thinks my sister's treason my petition;
That, largely vaunting, in my heat of blood,
More than I could, it seems, or durst perform,
I sought evasion.

_Troil. _ And in private prayed--

_Hect. _ O yes, Polyxena to beg my life.

_Andr. _ He cannot think so;--do not urge him thus.

_Hect. _ Not urge me! then thou think'st I need his urging.
By all the gods, should Jove himself descend,
And tell me,--Hector, thou deservest not life,
But take it as a boon,--I would not live.
But that a mortal man, and he, of all men,
Should think my life were in his power to give,
I will not rest, till, prostrate on the ground,
I make him, atheist-like, implore his breath
Of me, and not of heaven.

_Troil. _ Then you'll refuse no more to fight?

_Hect. _ Refuse! I'll not be hindered, brother.
I'll through and through them, even their hindmost ranks,
Till I have found that large-sized boasting fool,
Who dares presume my life is in his gift.

_Andr. _ Farewell, farewell; 'tis vain to strive with fate!
Cassandra's raging god inspires my breast
With truths that must be told, and not believed.
Look how he dies! look how his eyes turn pale!
Look how his blood bursts out at many vents!
Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out,
And widowed I fill all the streets with screams!
Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps!
And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! Oh Hector! [_Exit. _

_Hect. _ What sport will be, when we return at evening,
To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams!

_Troil. _ I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this night;
But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains,
And, when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss!
I shall turn basilisk, and with my sight
Do my hands' work on Diomede this day.

_Hect. _ To arms, to arms! the vanguards are engaged
Let us not leave one man to guard the walls;
Both old and young, the coward and the brave,
Be summoned all, our utmost fate to try,
And as one body move, whose soul am I. [_Exeunt. _


SCENE II--_The Camp. _

_Alarm within. Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, MENELAUS, _Soldiers. _

_Agam. _ Thus far the promise of the day is fair.
Æneas rather loses ground than gains.
I saw him over-laboured, taking breath,
And leaning on his spear, behold our trenches,
Like a fierce lion looking up to toils,
Which yet he durst not leap.

_Ulys. _ And therefore distant death does all the work;
The flights of whistling darts make brown the sky,
Whose clashing points strike fire, and gild the dusk;
Those, that reach home, from neither host are vain,
So thick the prease; so lusty are their arms,
That death seemed never sent with better will.
Nor was with less concernment entertained.

_Enter_ NESTOR.

_Agam. _ Now, Nestor, what's the news?

_Nest. _ I have descried
A cloud of dust, that mounts in pillars upwards,
Expanding as it travels to our camp;
And from the midst I heard a bursting shout,
That rent the heaven; as if all Troy were swarmed.
And on the wing this way.

_Menel. _ Let them come, let them come.

_Agam. _ Where's great Achilles?

_Ulys. _ Think not on Achilles,
Till Hector drag him from his tent to fight;
Which sure he will, for I have laid the train.

_Nest. _ But young Patroclus leads his Myrmidons,
And in their front, even in the face of Hector,
Resolves to dare the Trojans.

_Agam. _ Haste, Ulysses, bid Ajax issue forth and second him.

_Ulys. _ Oh noble general, let it not be so.
Oppose not rage, while rage is in its force,
But give it way awhile, and let it waste.
The rising deluge is not stopt with dams;
Those it o'erbears, and drowns the hopes of harvest;
But, wisely managed, its divided strength
Is sluiced in channels, and securely drained.
First, let small parties dally with their fury;
But when their force is spent and unsupplied,
The residue with mounds may be restrained,
And dry-shod we may pass the naked ford.

_Enter_ THERSITES.

_Thers. _ Ho, ho, ho!

_Menel. _ Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool?

_Thers. _ Why, thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou
thinkest he makes horns at thee? Thou prince of the herd, what hast
thou to do with laughing? 'Tis the prerogative of a man, to laugh.
Thou risibility without reason, thou subject of laughter, thou fool
royal!

_Ulys. _ But tell us the occasion of thy mirth?

_Thers. _ Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own
kind. --Why, the enemies are broken into our trenches; fools like
Menelaus fall by thousands yet not a human soul departs on either
side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off, but
are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon,
and Hector Patroclus, so there is a towardly springing fop gone off;
he might have made a prince one day, but now he's nipt in the very bud
and promise of a most prodigious coxcomb.

_Agam. _ Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles;
Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid.
The alarm sounds near, and shouts are driven upon us,
As of a crowd confused in their retreat.

_Ulys. _ Open your ranks, and make these madmen way,
Then close again to charge upon their backs,
And quite consume the relics of the war. [_Exeunt all but_ THERSITES.

_Thers. _ What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away! How it purges
families of younger brothers, highways of robbers, and cities of
cuckold-makers! There is nothing like a pitched battle for these brisk
addle-heads! Your physician is a pretty fellow, but his fees make him
tedious, he rides not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their
horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker remedy,
but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men
and rogues together. But your battle has discretion; it picks out all
the forward fools, and sowses them together into immortality. [_Shouts
and alarms within_] Plague upon these drums and trumpets! these sharp
sauces of the war, to get fools an appetite to fighting! What do I
among them? I shall be mistaken for some valiant ass, and die a martyr
in a wrong religion. [_Here Grecians fly over the stage pursued by
Trojans; one Trojan turns back upon_
THERSITES _who is flying too. _

_Troj. _ Turn, slave, and fight.

_Thers. _ [_turning. _] What art thou?

_Troj. _ A bastard son of Priam's.

_Thers. _ I am a bastard too, I love bastards, I am bastard in body,
bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. A
bear will not fasten upon a bear; why should one bastard offend
another! Let us part fair, like true sons of whores, and have the fear
of our mothers before our eyes.

_Troj. _ The devil take thee, coward. [_Exit Troj. _

_Thers. _ Now, would I were either invisible or invulnerable! These
gods have a fine time on it; they can see and make mischief, and never
feel it. [_Clattering of swords at both doors; he runs each
way, and meets the noise. _
A pox clatter you! I am compassed in. Now would I were that blockhead
Ajax for a minute. Some sturdy Trojan will poach me up with a long
pole! and then the rogues may kill one another at free cost, and have
nobody left to laugh at them. Now destruction! now destruction!

_Enter_ HECTOR _and_ TROILUS _driving in the Greeks. _

_Hect. _ to _Thers. _ Speak what part thou fightest on!

_Thers. _ I fight not at all; I am for neither side.

_Hect. _ Thou art a Greek; art thou a match for Hector?
Art thou of blood and honour?

_Thers. _ No, I am a rascal, a scurvy railing knave, a very filthy
rogue.

_Hect. _ I do believe thee; live.

_Thers. _ God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but the devil break
thy neck for frighting me. [_Aside. _

_Troil. _ (_returning. _) What prisoner have you there?

_Hect. _ A gleaning of the war; a rogue, he says.

_Troil. _ Dispatch him, and away. [_Going to kill him. _

_Thers. _ Hold, hold! --what, is it no more but dispatch a man and away!
I am in no such haste: I will not die for Greece; I hate Greece, and
by my good will would never have been born there; I was mistaken into
that country, and betrayed by my parents to be born there. And
besides, I have a mortal enemy among the Grecians, one Diomede, a
damned villain, and cannot die with a safe conscience till I have
first murdered him.

_Troil. _ Shew me that Diomede, and thou shalt live.

_Thers.