Part 19

Hel. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord-

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most affectionately to you-

Hel. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.

Hel. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it 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.

Hel. My Lord Pandarus!

Pan. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

Par. What exploit’s in hand? Where sups he to-night?

Hel. Nay, but, my lord-

Pan. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you.

Hel. You must not know where he sups.

Par. I’ll lay my life, with my disposer Creſſida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I’ll make’s excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Creſſida? No, your poor disposer’s sick.

Par. I spy.

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

Hel. Why, this is kindly done.

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

Hel. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

Pan. He! No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.

Hel. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

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

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

Pan. Ay, you may, you may.

Hel. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Pan. Love! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.