_Pand._ I measured her with my girdle yesterday; she's not half a yard about the waist, but so taper a shape did I never see; but when I had her in my arms, Lord, thought I,--and by my troth I could not forbear sighing,--If prince Troilus had her at this advantage and I were holding of the door!--An she were a thought taller,--but as she is, she wants not an inch of Helen neither; but there's no more comparison between the women--there was wit, there was a sweet tongue! How her words melted in her mouth! Mercury would have been glad to have such a tongue in his mouth, I warrant him. I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. _Troil._ Oh Pandarus, when I tell thee I am mad In Cressid's love, thou answer'st she is fair; Praisest her eyes, her stature, and her wit; But praising thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay'st, in every wound her love has given me, The sword that made it. _Pand._ I give her but her due. _Troil._ Thou giv'st her not so much. _Pand._ Faith, I'll speak no more of her, let her be as she is; if she be a beauty, 'tis the better for her; an' she be not, she has the mends in her own hands, for Pandarus. _Troil._ In spite of me, thou wilt mistake my meaning. _Pand._ I have had but my labour for my pains; ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, and am ground in the mill-stones for my labour. _Troil._ What, art thou angry, Pandarus, with thy friend? _Pand._ Because she's my niece, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; an' she were not my niece, show me such another piece of woman's flesh: take her limb by limb: I say no more, but if Paris had seen her first, Menelaus had been no cuckold: but what care I if she were a blackamoor? what am I the better for her face? _Troil._ Said I she was not beautiful? _Pand._ I care not if you did; she's a fool to stay behind her father Calchas: let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her. For my part, I am resolute, I'll meddle no more in your affairs. _Troil._ But hear me! _Pand._ Not I. _Troil._ Dear Pandarus-- _Pand._ Pray speak no more on't; I'll not burn my fingers in another body's business; I'll leave it as I found it, and there's an end. [_Exit._ _Troil._ O gods, how do you torture me! I cannot come to Cressida but by him, And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo, As she is to be won. _Enter_ AENEAS. _AEneas._ How now, prince Troilus; why not in the battle? _Troil._ Because not there. This woman's answer suits me, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, AEneas, from the field to-day? _AEn._ Paris is hurt. _Troil._ By whom? _AEn._ By Menelaus. Hark what good sport [_Alarm within._ Is out of town to-day! When I hear such music, I cannot hold from dancing.