SCENE 4. Troy. 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 affections

       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.

       [Enter TROILUS.]

       PANDARUS.

       Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!

       CRESSIDA.

       [Embracing him.]

       O Troilus! Troilus!

       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?

       when 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; ‘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 loose 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 expos’d, 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 why I speak it, love.

       The Grecian youths are full of quality;

       They’re loving, well compos’d, 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 afear’d.

       CRESSIDA.

       O heavens! you love me not.

       TROILUS.

       Die I a villain, then!