there was never a truer rhime. 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 strain'd 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.

Cre.
Have the gods envy?

Pan.
Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.

Cre.
And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

Tro.
A hateful truth.

Cre.
What, and from Troilus too?

Tro.
From Troy, and Troilus.

Cre.
Is't 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 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 farewels 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* ^note.

&blquo;Æne. [within.]
&blquo;My lord! lord Troilus! is the lady ready?

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;Hark! you are call'd: some say, the Genius so
&blquo;Cries, Come, to him that instantly must die.—
&blquo;Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.

&blquo;Pan.
&blquo;Where are my tears? rain, rain, to lay this wind,
&blquo;Or my poor heart will be blown up by the root. [Exit Pandarus.

Cre.
I must then to the Grecians?

Tro.
No remedy.

&blquo;Cre.
&blquo;A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks.—
&blquo;When shall we see again?

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart—

&blquo;Cre.
&blquo;I true! how now? what wicked deem is this?

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
&blquo;For it is parting from us.
&blquo;I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee;
&blquo;For I will throw my glove to death himself,
&blquo;That there's no maculation in thy heart:
&blquo;But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in
&blquo;My sequent protestation; be thou true,
&blquo;And I will see thee.

&blquo;Cre.
&blquo;O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
&blquo;As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true.

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.

&blquo;Cre.
&blquo;And you this glove. When shall I see you

Tro.
I will corrupt the Grecian centinels,
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet, be true.

Cre.
O heavens! be true, again?

Tro.
Hear why I speak it, love: The Grecian youths
Are well compos'd, with gifts of nature flowing,
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelties may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin)
Makes me afeard.

Cre.
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 heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant:
But I can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil,
That tempts most cunningly; but be not tempted.

Cre.
Do you think, I will?

Tro.
No.
But something may be done, that we will not;
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.

Æne. [within.]
Nay, good my lord,—

Tro.
Come, kiss; and let us part.

Par. [within.]
Brother Troilus!

Tro.
Good brother, come you hither;
And bring Æneas, and the Grecian, with you.

Cre.
My lord, will you be true?

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
&blquo;While others fish with craft for great opinion,
&blquo;I with great truth catch meer simplicity;
&blquo;Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
&blquo;With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
&blquo;Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
&blquo;Is—plain, and true,—there's all the reach of it. Enter Paris, Diomed, and Æneas.
Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady,
Which for Antenor we deliver you:
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand;
And, by the way, possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If ere thou stand at mercy of my sword,
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Dio.
Fair lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects:
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,

Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
&blquo;To shame the zeal of my petition to thee,
&blquo;In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,
&blquo;She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises,
&blquo;As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
&blquo;I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge;
&blquo;For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
&blquo;Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
&blquo;I'll cut thy throat.

&blquo;Dio.
&blquo;O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus:
&blquo;Let me be priviledg'd by my place, and message,
&blquo;To be a speaker free; when I am hence,
&blquo;I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord,
&blquo;I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth
&blquo;She shall be priz'd; but that you say—be't so,
&blquo;I speak it in my spirit and honour, no.

Tro.
Come, to the port:—&blquo;I tell thee, Diomed,
&blquo;This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.—
Lady, give me your hand! and, as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. [Exeunt Tro. and Cre. Trumpet heard.

Par.
Hark! Hector's trumpet.

Æne.
How have we spent this morning!
The prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That swore to ride before him to the field.

Par.
'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with him. [Exeunt.

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