matter? will you beat down the door? How now? what's the matter?

Enter ENEAS.

Ene. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. Pan. Who's there? my lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not: what news with you so early? Ene. Is not prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him ; It doth import him much, to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late: What should he do here?

Ene. Who!-nay, then.

Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware:
You'll be so true to him, to be false to him;

Do not you know of him? yet go fetch him hither;
Go.

AS PANDARUS is going out, enter TROILUS.

Tro. How now? what's the matter?

Ene. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Delivered to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The lady Cressida.

Tro.

Is it so concluded?

Ene. By Priam, and the general state of Troy; They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Tro. How my achievements mock me!

I will go meet them: and, my lord Æneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here.
Ene. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt TROILUS and ENEAS.

1 i. e. hasty or abrupt.

Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke's neck!

Enter CRESSIDA.

Cres. How now? what is the matter? Who was here ?

Pan. Ah, ah!

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord gone?

Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

Cres. O the gods !-what's the matter?

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in. 'Would thou hadst ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death: -O poor gentleman!-A plague upon Antenor!

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I beseech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone thou art changed for Antenor! thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane: he cannot bear it.

Cres. O you immortal gods!-I will not go.
Pan. Thou must.

Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;

I know no touch' of consanguinity;

No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,

As the sweet Troilus.-O you gods divine!

2

Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,

If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
Do to this body what extremes you can;

But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all things to it.—I'll go in, and weep-
Pan. Do, do.

Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised

cheeks,

1 Sense or feeling of relationship.

2 i. e. the very height.

Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The same. Before Pandarus' House.

Enter PARIS, TROILUS, ÆNEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES.

Par. It is great morning;1 and the hour prefixed 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.

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his own heart.
Par. I know what 'tis to love;

And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help!—
Please you, walk in, my lords.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The same.

A Room in Pandarus'

House.

Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA.

Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.
Cres. Why tell you me of moderation?

The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,

And violentetho in a sense as strong

As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affection,

Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,

The like allayment could I give my grief.

1 i. e. broad day. It is a familiar French idiom,-C'est grand matin. 2 This verb is used by Ben Jonson in the Devil is an Ass:

"Nor nature violenceth in both these."

My love admits no qualifying dross;

No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

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 now, lambs ?

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strained a purity,
That the blest gods-as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities-take thee from me.
Cres. Have the gods envy?

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.
Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Tro. A hateful truth.

Cres.

What, and from Troilus too?

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus.

Cres.

Is it possible?

Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents

Our locked embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own laboring breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste,

Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how.
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consigned1 kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu;

And scants us with a single, famished kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

Ene. [Within.] My lord! is the lady ready?
Tro. Hark! you are called: some say, the Genius so
Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die.—
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.

Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root!

[Exit PANDARUS.

Cres. I must then to the Greeks? Tro. No remedy. Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks. When shall we see again?

Tro. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of

heart,

Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem 2 is this?
Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us.

I speak not, Be thou true, as fearing thee;
For I will throw my glove to death himself,3
That there's no maculation in thy heart;
But Be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation; be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cres. O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true.

Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger.

sleeve.

Wear this

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you? Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,

To give thee nightly visitation.

But yet be true.

Cres.

O heavens!-Be true again?

1 Consigned means sealed, from consigno (Lat.).

2 Deem (a word now obsolete) signifies opinion, surmise.

3 That is, I will challenge death himself in defence of thy fidelity.