Troilus is trying to stop time. His language is delicate and almost childlike — he speaks of sleep, of softness, of keeping her warm. He knows morning has come but cannot accept it. When he realizes they must part, his language becomes desperate and poetic.
Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
Cressida is more grounded in reality. She knows the morning has come. She speaks practically and with some bitterness — 'Night hath been too brief.' Her response to Pandarus's crude jokes is sharp and angry. She is the one who must face the consequences of the night.
Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down; He shall unbolt the gates.
then, sweet my lord, i’ll call mine uncle down; he shall unbolt the gates.
then, sweet my lord, i’ll call mine uncle down; he shall
Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses
As infants empty of all thought!
Trouble him not; To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to your senses As infants empty of all thought!
trouble him not; to bed, to bed! sleep kill those pretty eyes, and give as soft attachment to your senses as infants empty of all thought!
trouble him not; to bed, to bed! sleep kill those pretty
Good morrow, then.
Good morrow, then.
good morrow, then.
good morrow, then.
I prithee now, to bed.
I prithee now, to bed.
i prithee now, to bed.
i prithee now, to bed.
Are you aweary of me?
Are you aweary of me?
are you aweary of me?
are you aweary of me?
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.
O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak’d by the lark, has rous’d the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from you.
o cressida! but that the busy day, wak’d by the lark, has rous’d the ribald crows, and dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, i would not from you.
o cressida! but that the busy day, wak’d by the lark, has
Night hath been too brief.
Night has been too brief.
night has been too brief.
night has been too brief.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me.
beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays as tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love with wings more momentary-swift than thought. you will catch cold, and curse me.
beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays as
Prithee tarry.
You men will never tarry.
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.
Prithee tarry. You men will never tarry. O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.
prithee tarry. you men will never tarry. o foolish cressid! i might have still held off, and then you would have tarried. hark! there’s one up.
prithee tarry. you men will never tarry. o foolish cressid!
It is your uncle.
It is your uncle.
it is your uncle.
it is your uncle.
A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.
I shall have such a life!
A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking. I shall have such a life!
a pestilence on him! now will he be mocking. i shall have such a life!
a pestilence on him! now will he be mocking. i shall have
How now, how now! How go maidenheads?
Here, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?
How now, how now! How go maidenheads? Here, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?
how now, how now! how go maidenheads? here, you maid! where’s my cousin cressid?
how now, how now! how go maidenheads? here, you maid!
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. you bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. you bring me
To do what? to do what? Let her say what.
What have I brought you to do?
To do what? to do what? Let her say what. What have I brought you to do?
to do what? to do what? let her say what. what have i brought you to do?
to do what? to do what? let her say what. what have i
Come, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer
others.
Come, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer others.
come, come, beshrew your heart! you’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer others.
come, come, beshrew your heart! you’ll ne’er be good, nor
Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight?
Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!
Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight? Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!
ha, ha! alas, poor wretch! ah, poor capocchia! hast not slept tonight? would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him!
ha, ha! alas, poor wretch! ah, poor capocchia! hast not
Did not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!
Did not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!
did not i tell you? would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!
did not i tell you? would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!
Scene 3-2 is the lovers' meeting, baroque with expectation and fantasy. Scene 4-2 is the morning after, and it is prose more than poetry, practical more than transcendent. Troilus tries to hold onto night with language about sleep and darkness, but Cressida knows better. 'Night hath been too brief' — the most economical and devastating line in the scene. No night is long enough when it's the last one. The scene shows the lovers not in passion but in its aftermath — vulnerable, mortal, aware that daylight is their enemy. Pandarus's arrival with his crude jokes does not break the mood so much as reveal what the mood has always been. He is narrating the night in the only language available to him: the language of transaction. By the time the knock comes, the lovers are already defeated. Morning has already killed what night protected.
Ha! ha!
Ha! ha!
ha! ha!
ha! ha!
Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.
Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.
come, you're deceiv’d, i think of no such thing.
come, you're deceiv’d, i think of no such thing.
Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?
What’s the matter?
Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? What’s the matter?
who’s there? what’s the matter? will you beat down the door? how now? what’s the matter?
who’s there? what’s the matter? will you beat down the
Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
good morrow, lord, good morrow.
good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Who’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,
I knew you not. What news with you so early?
Who’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth, I knew you not. What news with you so early?
who’s there? my lord aeneas? by my troth, i knew you not. what news with you so early?
who’s there? my lord aeneas? by my troth, i knew you not.
Is not Prince Troilus here?
Is not Prince Troilus here?
is not prince troilus here?
is not prince troilus here?
Here! What should he do here?
Here! What should he do here?
here! what should he do here?
here! what should he do here?
Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.
It doth import him much to speak with me.
Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. It does import him much to speak with me.
come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. it does import him much to speak with me.
come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. it does import
Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own
part, I came in late. What should he do here?
Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?
is he here, say you? it’s more than i know, i’ll be sworn. for my own part, i came in late. what should he do here?
is he here, say you? it’s more than i know, i’ll be sworn.
Who, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll
be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet
go fetch him hither; go.
Who, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.
who, nay then! come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you're ware; you’ll be so true to him to be false to him. do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.
who, nay then! come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you're
How now! What’s the matter?
How now! What’s the matter?
how now! what’s the matter?
how now! what’s the matter?
In the middle of this scene, Cressida articulates a bitter truth: 'I might have still held off, / And then you would have tarried.' She realizes that her surrender has backfired — instead of securing Troilus, it has made her vulnerable. This is the tragedy of female sexuality in a war economy: if she resists, she loses; if she yields, she is exposed. Pandarus has manipulated her into the vulnerable position, and now she pays the price. Her observation is not about blame but about the mechanics of desire in a transactional world. She has learned too late that love is not reciprocal weakness but competitive strength. The woman who yields first loses. This is not Shakespeare preaching a moral lesson; this is the play showing us how desire operates under conditions of war and commodification.
My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash. There is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes’ hand
The Lady Cressida.
My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes’ hand The Lady Cressida.
my lord, i scarce have leisure to salute you, my matter is so rash. there is at hand paris your brother, and deiphobus, the grecian diomed, and our antenor deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith, ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, we must give up to diomedes’ hand the lady cressida.
my lord, i scarce have leisure to salute you, my matter is
Is it so concluded?
Is it so concluded?
is it so concluded?
is it so concluded?
By Priam and the general state of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
By Priam and the general state of Troy. They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
by priam and the general state of troy. they are at hand, and ready to effect it.
by priam and the general state of troy. they are at hand,
How my achievements mock me!
I will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here.
How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here.
how my achievements mock me! i will go meet them; and, my lord aeneas, we met by chance; you did not find me here.
how my achievements mock me! i will go meet them; and, my
Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar
Have not more gift in taciturnity.
Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity.
good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour pandar have not more gift in taciturnity.
good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour pandar have
Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The
young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had
broke’s neck.
Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke’s neck.
is’t possible? no sooner got but lost? the devil take antenor! the young prince will go mad. a plague upon antenor! i would they had broke’s neck.
is’t possible? no sooner got but lost? the devil take
How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?
How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?
how now! what’s the matter? who was here?
how now! what’s the matter? who was here?
Ah, ah!
Ah, ah!
ah, ah!
ah, ah!
Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet
uncle, what’s the matter?
Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?
why sigh you so profoundly? where’s my lord? gone? tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?
why sigh you so profoundly? where’s my lord? gone? tell me,
Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!
Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!
would i were as deep under the earth as i'm above!
would i were as deep under the earth as i'm above!
O the gods! What’s the matter?
O the gods! What’s the matter?
o the gods! what’s the matter?
o the gods! what’s the matter?
Pray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou
wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
Pray you get you in. Would you hadst ne’er been born! I knew you wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
pray you get you in. would you hadst ne’er been born! i knew you wouldst be his death! o, poor gentleman! a plague upon antenor!
pray you get you in. would you hadst ne’er been born! i
Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the
matter?
Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the matter?
good uncle, i beseech you, on my knees i beseech you, what’s the matter?
good uncle, i beseech you, on my knees i beseech you,
Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for
Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be
his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
you must be gone, wench, you must be gone; you art chang’d for Antenor; you must to your father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
you must be gone, wench, you must be gone; you art chang’d for antenor; you must to your father, and be gone from troilus. ’twill be his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
you must be gone, wench, you must be gone; you art chang’d
O you immortal gods! I will not go.
O you immortal gods! I will not go.
o you immortal gods! i will not go.
o you immortal gods! i will not go.
Thou must.
you must.
you must.
you must.
I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;
I know no touch of consanguinity,
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,
Make Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
Do to this body what extremes you can,
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—
I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; I know no touch of consanguinity, No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine, Make Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood, If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can, But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—
i will not, uncle. i've forgot my father; i know no touch of consanguinity, no kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me as the sweet troilus. o you gods divine, make cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood, if ever she leave troilus! time, force, and death, do to this body what extremes you can, but the strong base and building of my love is as the very centre of the earth, drawing all things to it. i’ll go in and weep—
i will not, uncle. i've forgot my father; i know no touch
Do, do.
Do, do.
do, do.
do, do.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,
With sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, With sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.
tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, with sounding ‘troilus.’ i will not go from troy.
tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, crack
The Reckoning
The scene is one of the play's most tender and most fragile. The night has passed; the lovers must part. Troilus tries to hold onto the moment with language about darkness and sleep — anything to delay time. Cressida responds with the bitter wisdom that morning brings: 'Night hath been too brief.' When Pandarus enters, he breaks the mood with crude jokes, then the knock at the door shatters everything. The scene shows us the lovers not in passion but in the moment after passion — vulnerable, mortal, aware that time is running out. Their language shifts from baroque to practical. Cressida realizes they can't hide. The scene is about the death of the fantasy that began in 3-2.
If this happened today…
Two people who've spent the night together wake to realize they have to part. One tries to pretend it's not morning. The other knows it is. A friend arrives and makes crude jokes. Then a knock at the door reminds them that the world is waiting outside their room.