Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I[949] 30
saw her look, or any woman else.[949]
Tro. I was about to tell thee:—when my heart,[950]
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,[951] 35
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than[952]
Helen's—well, go to—there were no more comparison between 40
the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman;[953]
I would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would somebody[954]
had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not
dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but—
Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,— 45
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep[955]
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad[956][957]
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'[957]
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart[958][959] 50
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,[959]
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,[959][960][961]
In whose comparison all whites are ink[961]
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure[961]
The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense[961][962] 55
Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,[961]
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;[963]
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it. 60
Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.
Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:[964]
if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has[965]
the mends in her own hands. 65
Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus![966]
Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought
on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between,[967]
but small thanks for my labour.
Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? 70