Pand.
I'st possible! no sooner got but lost!
The devil take Antenor: the young Prince will go mad:
A plague upon Anthenor! wou'd they had broke's neck.

Cressi.
How now! what's the matter! who was here!

Pand.
Oh, oh!

Cressi.
Why sigh you so! O where's my Troilus? tell me sweet
Uncle what's the matter?

Pand.
Wou'd I were as deep under the earth, as I am above it!

Cressi.
Oh the Gods, what's the matter?

Pand.
Prithee get thee in, wou'd thou hadst never been born!
I knew thou woud'st be his death; oh poor Gentleman!
A plague upon Antenor?

Cressi.

Good Uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what's the matter?

Pand.

Thou must be gone girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive Rogue Priest thy father, (and he's my brother too, but that's all one at this time:) a pox upon Antenor.?

Cressi.
O ye immortal Gods, I will not go.

Pand.
Thou must, thou must?

Cressi.
I will not: I have quite forgot my father;
I have no touch of birth; no spark of Nature:
No kinn, no blood, no life; nothing so near me
As my dear Troilus? Enter Troilus.

Pand.

Here, here, here, he comes sweet Duck!

Cressi.

O Troilus, Troilus!

Pand.

What a pair of Spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh heart, sings (as the saying is) O heart, heavy heart, why sighst thou without breaking (where he answers again) because thou canst not ease thy smart, by friendship nor by speaking, 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?

Troil.
Cressida, I love thee with so strange a purity
That the blest Gods, angry with my devotions
More bright in zeal, than that I pay their Altars,
Will take thee from my sight?

Cressi.
Have the Gods envy?

Pand.
I, I, I, 'tis too plain a case!

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

Troil.
A hastefull truth?

Cressi.
What, and from Troilus too?

Troil.
From Troy and Troilus: and suddenly.
So suddenly 'tis counted but by minutes.

Cressi.
What not an hour allow'd for taking leave?

Troil.
Ev'n that's bereft us too: our envious fates
Justle betwixt, and part the dear adieus
Of meeting lips, clasp'd hands, and lock'd embraces. Æneas within.
My Lord, is the Lady ready yet?

Troil.
Hark, you are call'd: some say the Genius so
Cryes come, to him who instantly must dye.

Pand.
Where are my tears! some rain to 'lay this wind:
Or my heart will be blown up by th' roots!

Troil.
Hear me my Love! be thou but true like me.

Cressi.
I true! how now, what wicked thought is this?

Troil.
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:
I spoke not, be thou true, as fearing thee;
But be thou true, I said to introduce
My following protestation: be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cressi.
You'll be expos'd to dangers.

Troil.
I care not: but be true.

Cressi.
Be true again?

Troil.
Hear why I speak it love.
The Grecian Youths are full of Grecian Arts:
Alas a kind of holy jealousie
Which I beseech you call a vertuous sin,
Makes me afraid how far you may be tempted.

Cressi.
O Heavens, you love me not!

Troil
Dye I, a villain then!
In this I do not call your faith in question
But my own merit.

Cressi.
Fear not; I'le be true.

Troil.
Then fate thy worst; for I will see thee love
Not all the Grecian host shall keep me out,
Nor Troy, though wall'd with fire, shou'd hold me in. Æneas within.
My Lord, my Lord Troilus: I must call you.

Pand.

A mischief call him: nothing but Schreechowls? do, do, call again; you had best part 'em now in the sweetnesse of their love! I'le be hang'd if this Æneas be the Son of Venus, for all his bragging.

Honest Venus was a Punk: wou'd she have parted Lovers: no he has not a drop of Venus blood in him: honest Venus was a Punk.

Troil. To Pand.

Prithee go out; and gain one minute more.

Pand.

Marry and I will: follow you your business; lose no time, 'tis very precious; go, Bill again: I'le tell the Rogue his own I warrant him.

Cressi.
What have we gain'd by this one minute more?

Troil.
Only to wish another, and another
A longer struggling with the pangs of death.

Cressi.
O those who do not know what parting is
Can never learn to dye!

Troil.
When I but think this sight may be our last,
If Jove cou'd set me in the place of Atlas
And lay the weight of Heav'n and Gods upon me
He cou'd not presse me more.

Cressi.
Oh let me go that I may know my grief;
Grief is but guess'd, while thou art standing by:
But I too soon shall know what absence is.

Troil.
Why 'tis to be no more: another name for death.
'Tis the Sunn parting from the frozen North;
And I, me thinks, stand on some Icey cliff,
To watch the last low circles that he makes;
Till he sink down from Heav'n! O only Cressida,
If thou depart from me, I cannot live:
I have not soul enough to last for grief,
But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me.

Cressi.
If I could live to hear it, I were false,
But as a careful traveller who fearing
Assaults of Robbers, leaves his wealth behind,
I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks
Bear but an empty Casket.

Troil.
Then, I will live; that I may keep that treasure:
And arm'd with this assurance, let thee go
Loose, yet secure as is the gentle Hawk
When whistled off she mounts into the wind:
Our love's, like Mountains high above the clouds,
Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet,
Their peaceful heads nor storm nor thunder know,
But scorn the threatning rack that roles below, Exeunt Ambo.

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