William Shakespeare: Troilus and Cressida, Act III

Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs praise him.

Music within

Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

That's to 't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,—

No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her attributes?

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.

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!

You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music.

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.

I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly.

Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus,—

Go to, sweet queen, to go:—commends himself most affectionately to you,—

You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do, our melancholy upon your head!

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.

What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where he sups.

No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your disposer is sick.

Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen.

My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.

Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now.

Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Sings

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.

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?

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?

Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they sped to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?