« PreviousContinue »
Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to thy father, and begone from Troilus; 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
Cres. O you immortal gods !-- I will not go.
Pan. Do, do.
cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.
• Sense or feeling of relationship.
The same. Before Pandarus' house.
Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor,
and Diomedes, Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon :-Good my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do, And haste her to the purpose. Tro.
Walk in to her house;
Par. I know what'tis to love;
The same. A room in Pandarus' house,
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Cres. Wby tell you me of moderation?
My love admits no qualifying dross:
Enter Troilus. Pan. Here, here, here he comes.-Ah sweet ducks!
Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus! (Embracing him.
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here? Let me embrace too : O heart,-as the goodly saying is,
o heart, o heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking ? . where he answers again,
Because thou canst not ease thy smart,
By friendship, nor by speaking. There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse; we see it, we see it. How wow, lambs?
Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity,
Cres. Have the gods envy?
What, and from Troilus too?
Is it possible?
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste,
Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root!
(Exit Pandarus. Crcs. I must then to the Greeks? Tro.
No remedy. Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! When shall we see again? Tro. Hear me, my love: Be thou but true of
beart, Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem is
Cres. 0, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
this sleeve. Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you? Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee piglitly visitation.
O heavens !-be true again?
flowing, And swelling o'er with arts and exercise; How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kiod of godly jealousy (Which I beseech you, call a virtuous sin), Makes me a feard. Cres.
O heavens! you love me not. Tro. Die I a villain then! In this I do not call your faith in question, So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
Come, kiss; and let us part.
Good brother, come you hither; And bring Æneas, and the Grecian, with you.
Cres. My lord, will you be true?
Tro. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
• Highly accomplished. + A dance.