style="font-size:15px;"> PANDARUS.Command, I mean, friend.
SERVANT.
Who shall I command, sir?
PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?
SERVANT.
That’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of
Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus,
the heart-blood of beauty, love’s invisible soul—
PANDARUS.
Who, my cousin, Cressida?
SERVANT.
No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?
PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.
SERVANT.
Sodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!
[Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended.]
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.
HELEN.
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, go to—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 it 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 tonight?
HELEN.
Nay, but, my lord—
PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you.
HELEN.
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’s 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.
