Act 2 - Scene 2
Troy. A room in Priam's palace.
Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS
After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
and all damage else
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is
In hot digestion of this cormorant war
Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't?
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I
As far as toucheth my particular,
Yet, dread Priam,
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
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,
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
of her up?
Fie, fie, my brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king
So great as our dread father in a scale
common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past proportion of his infinite?
And buckle in a waist
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!
No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none that tells him so?
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are
know an enemy intends you harm;
You know a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of
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
Let's shut our gates and sleep: manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
What is aught, but as 'tis valued?
But value dwells not in particular will;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry
To make the service greater than the god
And the will dotes that is
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.
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