Troilus and Cressida is an inexplicable play. It is a justification
of those critics who obstinately, but without external evidence,
refuse to believe that much which is attributed to Shakespeare
really belongs to him. It is absolutely impossible that the man who
put these words into the mouth of Achilles:
'I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal,
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view.'
could have adapted from the Recuyell the shocking ignominy of the
ninth scene in the fifth act in which Achilles calls on his
myrmidons to slay Hector unarmed, and then triumphs in these lines:
'My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.
[Sheathes his sword.
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.'
Measure for Measure as a play is hateful to me, although there are
passages in it as truly Shakespeare as anything to be found in all
his works. The chief objection to it is that justice, to use
Coleridge's word, is 'baffled.
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