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,--
My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,--
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!
Sweet queen, sweet queen! that's a sweet queen, i' faith.
And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
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.
My Lord Pandarus,--
What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?
Nay, but, my lord,--
What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out
with you. You must not know where he sups.
I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your
disposer is sick.
Well, I'll make excuse.
Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,
your poor disposer's sick.
I spy.
You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an
instrument. Now, sweet queen.
Why, this is kindly done.
My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have,
sweet queen.
She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.
He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.
Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
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.
Ay, you may, you may.
Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Love! ay, that it shall, i' faith.
Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
In good troth, it begins so.
Love, love, nothing but love, still more!
For, O, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds,
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.
These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!
Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
Doth