Act 2 - Scene 2
Troy. A room in Priam's palace.
Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS PRIAM
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? HECTOR
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? TROILUS
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! HELENUS
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? TROILUS
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. HECTOR
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding. TROILUS
What is aught, but as 'tis valued? HECTOR
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.
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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