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SCENE III. Street before Pandarus'
house
Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES
PARIS
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.
TROILUS
Walk into 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.
Exit
PARIS
I know what 'tis to love;
And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
Please you walk in, my lords.
Exeunt
SCENE IV. A room in Pandarus' house
Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA
PANDARUS
Be moderate, be moderate.
CRESSIDA
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth 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.
My love admits no qualifying dross;
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
PANDARUS
Here, here, here he comes.
Enter TROILUS
Ah, sweet ducks!
CRESSIDA
O Troilus! Troilus!
Embracing him
PANDARUS
What a pair of spectacles is here!
Let me embrace too. 'O heart,' as the goodly saying is,
'--O heart, 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 was never 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?
TROILUS
Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity,
That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
CRESSIDA
Have the gods envy?
PANDARUS
Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.
CRESSIDA
And is it true that I must go from Troy?
TROILUS
A hateful truth.
CRESSIDA
What, and from Troilus too?
TROILUS
From Troy and Troilus.
CRESSIDA
Is it possible?
TROILUS
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 lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring 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 consign'd kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a lose adieu,
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
AENEAS
[Within] My lord, is the lady ready?
TROILUS
Hark! you are call'd: some say the Genius so
Cries 'come' to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
PANDARUS
Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or
my heart will be blown up by the root.
Exit
CRESSIDA
I must then to the Grecians?
TROILUS
No remedy.
CRESSIDA
A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?
TROILUS
Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart,--
CRESSIDA
I true! how now! what wicked deem is this?
TROILUS
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,
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.
CRESSIDA
O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent! but I'll be true.
TROILUS
And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
CRESSIDA
And you this glove. When shall I see you?
TROILUS
I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.
CRESSIDA
O heavens! 'be true' again!
TROILUS
Hear while I speak it, love:
The Grecian youths are full of quality;
They're loving, well composed with gifts of nature,
Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise:
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy--
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin--
Makes me afeard.
CRESSIDA
O heavens! you love me not.
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