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After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: ’Deliver Helen, and all damage else-- As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed In hot digestion of this cormorant war-- Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?
After all these hours, lives, and speeches spent, Nestor from the Greeks says once again: "Give up Helen, and all the other losses— Like honour, wasted time, hard work, cost, Wounds, friends, and everything precious lost In this endless war— Will be forgotten." Hector, what do you think about this?
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I As far as toucheth my particular, Yet, dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out ’Who knows what follows?’ Than Hector is: the wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is call’d The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go: Since the first sword was drawn about this question, Every tithe soul, ’mongst many thousand dismes, Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours: If we have lost so many tenths of ours, To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten, What merit’s in that reason which denies The yielding of her up?
Though no one fears the Greeks less than I As far as it concerns me personally, Still, my lord Priam, There is no lady more tender-hearted, More ready to feel fear, More quick to say “Who knows what will happen next?” Than I am: the wound of peace is surety, Surety is safe; but cautious doubt is called The guide of the wise, the tent that seeks To uncover the worst. Let Helen go: Since the first sword was drawn over this issue, Every one of our souls, out of many thousands, Has been as valuable as Helen; I mean, for us: If we have lost so many parts of ourselves, To protect something that isn’t ours and isn’t worth our while, Even if it had our name, valued at one-tenth, What’s the reason for denying The giving her up?
Fie, fie, my brother! Weigh you the worth and honour of a king So great as our dread father in a scale Of common ounces? will you with counters sum The past proportion of his infinite? And buckle in a waist most fathomless With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!
Shame on you, my brother! Do you weigh the worth and honour of a king As great as our respected father on a scale Measured by ordinary things? Will you add up His greatness with mere counters, And try to measure his infinite worth With tiny, limited numbers Like fears and reasons? Shame on you, for heaven’s sake!
No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, Because your speech hath none that tells him so?
No surprise, though you argue so strongly against reasons, You have so few of them. Shouldn’t our father Handle his matters with reason, Just because your speech doesn’t tell him to do so?
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: You know an enemy intends you harm; You know a sword employ’d is perilous, And reason flies the object of all harm: Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason, Let’s shut our gates and sleep: manhood and honour Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm’d reason: reason and respect Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
You’re lost in dreams and sleep, brother priest; You hide your ideas in fancy words. Here are Your reasons: You know an enemy means you harm; You know a sword in action is dangerous, And reason runs away from all danger: Who’s surprised then, when Helenus sees A Greek and his sword, if he places The very wings of reason on his feet And runs like Mercury fleeing from Jove, Or like a star fallen from the sky? No, if we talk about reason, Let’s lock our doors and sleep: manhood and honour Should have quick hearts, if only they would fill Their minds With this packed reason: reason and respect Make bodies weak and kill desire.
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding.
Brother, she isn’t worth the price Of keeping her.
What is aught, but as ’tis valued?
What is anything, but only what it’s worth?
But value dwells not in particular will; It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein ’tis precious of itself As in the prizer: ’tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god And the will dotes that is attributive To what infectiously itself affects, Without some image of the affected merit.
But worth doesn’t depend on personal desire; It depends on how much it’s valued and respected Both for its own value and for the value of the one who values it: it’s crazy idolatry To treat the service as more important than the god And the mind becomes foolish when it attributes value To something simply because it has a personal affection for it, Without any real justification of its worth.
I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment: how may I avoid, Although my will distaste what it elected, The wife I chose? there can be no evasion To blench from this and to stand firm by honour: We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, When we have soil’d them, nor the remainder viands We do not throw in unrespective sieve, Because we now are full. It was thought meet Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: Your breath of full consent bellied his sails; The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce And did him service: he touch’d the ports desired, And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive, He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning. Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt: Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, Whose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships, And turn’d crown’d kings to merchants. If you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went-- As you must needs, for you all cried ’Go, go,’-- If you’ll confess he brought home noble prize-- As you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands And cried ’Inestimable!’--why do you now The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, And do a deed that fortune never did, Beggar the estimation which you prized Richer than sea and land? O, theft most base, That we have stol’n what we do fear to keep! But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol’n, That in their country did them that disgrace, We fear to warrant in our native place!
I’m marrying today, and my choice Is guided by my own will; My will, sparked by what I see and hear, Two experienced guides between the dangerous shores Of will and judgment: how can I avoid, Even if my will dislikes what it chose, The wife I picked? There’s no way to escape From this and stay true to honor: We don’t return the silks to the merchant, After we’ve soiled them, nor throw away leftover food Just because we’re now full. It was thought right For Paris to take revenge on the Greeks: Your enthusiastic support filled his sails; The seas and winds, those old troublemakers, made a truce And helped him out: he reached the desired ports, And for an old aunt the Greeks had captured, He brought back a Greek queen, whose youth and beauty Make Apollo’s looks seem old and stale by comparison. Why do we keep her? The Greeks still have our aunt: Is she worth keeping? Well, she’s a pearl, Whose worth has launched more than a thousand ships, And turned crowned kings into merchants. If you agree it was wise for Paris to go-- As you must, since you all cheered "Go, go,"-- If you admit he brought home a noble prize-- As you must, since you all clapped your hands And cheered "Invaluable!"--why do you now Evaluate the outcome of your own wisdom, And do something that fortune never did, Devalue the prize that you once valued More than all the wealth of the sea and land? Oh, what a terrible theft, That we’ve stolen something we’re afraid to keep! But thieves, unworthy of something so precious, Who have already brought disgrace upon themselves in their own land, Are now afraid to keep what we’ve taken in our own place!
[Within] Cry, Trojans, cry!
[Within] Cry out, Trojans, cry out!
What noise? what shriek is this?
What’s that noise? What’s that shriek?
’Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.
It’s our crazy sister, I recognize her voice.
[Within] Cry, Trojans!
[Within] Cry out, Trojans!
It is Cassandra.
It’s Cassandra.
Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
Cry out, Trojans, cry out! Give me ten thousand eyes, And I’ll fill them with prophetic tears.
Peace, sister, peace!
Quiet, sister, quiet!
Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes A moiety of that mass of moan to come. Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears! Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe: Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.
Virgins and boys, middle-aged people and old folks, Soft infants, who can only cry, Add to my shouting! Let’s start early And give part of that great amount of sadness to come. Shout, Trojans, shout! Practice crying with your tears! Troy will not stand, nor beautiful Ilion survive; Our trouble-making brother, Paris, is burning us all. Shout, Trojans, shout! A Helen and a tragedy: Shout, shout! Troy is burning, or let Helen go.
Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains Of divination in our sister work Some touches of remorse? or is your blood So madly hot that no discourse of reason, Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, Can qualify the same?
Now, young Troilus, don’t you think these high-strung Predictions of our sister do Have some hint of regret? Or is your blood So wildly hot that no reasoning, Nor fear of a bad outcome in a bad cause, Can change your mind?
Why, brother Hector, We may not think the justness of each act Such and no other than event doth form it, Nor once deject the courage of our minds, Because Cassandra’s mad: her brain-sick raptures Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel Which hath our several honours all engaged To make it gracious. For my private part, I am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons: And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us Such things as might offend the weakest spleen To fight for and maintain!
Why, brother Hector, We cannot think that the fairness of each action Is only what happens to make it that way, Nor should we lose our courage, Just because Cassandra is mad: her brain-sick visions Can’t spoil the goodness of a fight That has the honor of us all involved To make it noble. As for me, I’m no more affected than all of Priam’s sons: And may the gods forbid that anything be done among us That would offend the weakest heart To fight for and defend!
Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings as your counsels: But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension and cut off All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms? What Propugnation is in one man’s valour, To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne’er retract what he hath done, Nor faint in the pursuit.
Otherwise, the world might accuse my actions As much as it would question your advice: But I swear by the gods, your full support Gave strength to my intention and removed All fears that came with such a terrible plan. For what, after all, can my single arms do? What defense is there in one man’s bravery, To face the push and hatred of those This war would stir? Yet, I swear, Were I alone to face the dangers And had as much power as I have will, Paris would never go back on what he has done, Nor falter in his pursuit.
Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights: You have the honey still, but these the gall; So to be valiant is no praise at all.
Paris, you speak Like someone obsessed with your sweet pleasures: You still have the honey, but these are the bitter things; So, being brave isn’t a praise at all.
Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; But I would have the soil of her fair rape Wiped off, in honourable keeping her. What treason were it to the ransack’d queen, Disgrace to your great worths and shame to me, Now to deliver her possession up On terms of base compulsion! Can it be That so degenerate a strain as this Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? There’s not the meanest spirit on our party Without a heart to dare or sword to draw When Helen is defended, nor none so noble Whose life were ill bestow’d or death unfamed Where Helen is the subject; then, I say, Well may we fight for her whom, we know well, The world’s large spaces cannot parallel.
Sir, I’m not only thinking of The joys that such a beauty brings; But I would have the stain of her dishonor Cleansed, by keeping her in an honorable way. What treason would it be to the robbed queen, Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, Now to give her up Under terms of lowly force! Can it be That such a degenerate attitude Should ever take hold in your noble hearts? There’s not a single spirit on our side Without the courage to fight or sword to draw When Helen needs defending, nor anyone so noble Whose life would be poorly spent or death unhonored If Helen is the cause; then, I say, We are right to fight for her, whom we know well, The world’s vast spaces can’t compare to.
Paris and Troilus, you have both said well, And on the cause and question now in hand Have glozed, but superficially: not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy: The reasons you allege do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper’d blood Than to make up a free determination ’Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision. Nature craves All dues be render’d to their owners: now, What nearer debt in all humanity Than wife is to the husband? If this law Of nature be corrupted through affection, And that great minds, of partial indulgence To their benumbed wills, resist the same, There is a law in each well-order’d nation To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory. If Helen then be wife to Sparta’s king, As it is known she is, these moral laws Of nature and of nations speak aloud To have her back return’d: thus to persist In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, But makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion Is this in way of truth; yet ne’ertheless, My spritely brethren, I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still, For ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependance Upon our joint and several dignities.
Paris and Troilus, you’ve both spoken well, And on the matter at hand, You’ve flattered it, but only on the surface: not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to study moral philosophy: The reasons you’ve given only stir The hot blood of our emotions More than they lead to a clear decision Between right and wrong, for pleasure and revenge Are harder to hear than the voice Of any real judgment. Nature demands That all dues be paid to their rightful owners: now, What greater debt in all humanity Than that of wife to husband? If this law Of nature is corrupted by affection, And that great minds, through partial kindness To their dulled wills, resist the truth, There is a law in every well-ordered nation To curb those uncontrollable desires That are most disobedient and rebellious. If Helen is then the wife of Sparta’s king, As we know she is, these moral laws Of nature and of nations are clear That she should be returned: to continue Doing wrong doesn’t make it less wrong, But makes it much worse. Hector’s opinion Is this, in truth; yet still, My lively brothers, I lean towards you In the decision to keep Helen here, For it is a cause that depends greatly On our combined and individual honor.
Why, there you touch’d the life of our design: Were it not glory that we more affected Than the performance of our heaving spleens, I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, She is a theme of honour and renown, A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame in time to come canonize us; For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose So rich advantage of a promised glory As smiles upon the forehead of this action For the wide world’s revenue.
Well, there you’ve hit the heart of our plan: Were it not for the glory that we seek More than just the fulfillment of our angry passions, I wouldn’t wish another drop of Trojan blood Spent more in her defense. But, noble Hector, She is a cause of honor and fame, A spur to brave and noble deeds, Whose courage now can defeat our enemies, And in time, honor us with fame; For, I believe, brave Hector would not waste Such a rich opportunity for promised glory That smiles on the face of this action For the world to see.
I am yours, You valiant offspring of great Priamus. I have a roisting challenge sent amongst The dun and factious nobles of the Greeks Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: I was advertised their great general slept, Whilst emulation in the army crept: This, I presume, will wake him.
I’m yours, You brave child of great Priam. I’ve sent a bold challenge among The lazy and rebellious nobles of the Greeks That will shock them awake: I was told their great general was asleep, While competition crept through the army: I think this will wake him up.