Ulys.

Stand where the torch may not discover us.

Troi.

Cressid come forth to him?

Dio.

How now, my Charge?

Cre.

Now, my sweet guardian; hark, a word with you.

Troi.

Yea, so familiar?

Ulys.

She will sing to any man at first sight.

Ther.

And any man may sing to her, if he can take her cliff. She's noted.

Dio.

Will you remember?

Cre.

Remember? yes.

Dio.

Nay, but do then; and let your mind be coupled with your words.

Troi.
What should she remember?

Ulys.
List.—

Cre.
Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.

Ther.
Roguery—

Dio.
Nay, then,—

Cre.
I'll tell you what.

Dio.
Fo, fo, come tell a pin, you are a forsworn—

Cre.
In faith, I can't: what would you have me do?

Ther.
A jugling trick, to be secretly open.

Dio.
What did you swear you would bestow on me?

Cre.
I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath;
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.

Dio.
Good night.

Troi.
Hold, patience—

Ulys.
How now, Trojan?

Cre.
Diomede,—

Dio.
No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more.

Troi.
Thy Better must.

Cre.
Hark, one word in your ear.

Troi.
O plague and madness!

Ulys.
You are mov'd, Prince; let us depart, I pray you,
Lest your displeasure should enlarge it self
To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous;
The time right deadly: I beseech you, go.

Troi.
Behold, I pray you—

Ulys.
Good my lord, go off:
You fly to great distraction: come, my lord.

Troi.
I pr'ythee, stay.

Ulys.
You have not patience; come.

Troi.
I pray you, stay; by hell, and by hell's torments.
I will not speak a word.

Dio.
And so, good night.

Cre.
Nay, but you part in anger?

Troi.
Doth that grieve thee? O wither'd truth!

Ulys.
Why, how now, lord?

Troi.
By Jove, I will be patient.

Cre.
Guardian—why, Greek—

Dio.
Fo, fo, adieu, you palter.

Cre.
In faith, I do not: come hither once again.

Ulys.
You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
You will break out.

Troi.
She stroaks his cheek.—

Ulys.
Come, come.

Troi.
Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word.
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience: stay a little while.

Ther.

How the devil luxury with his fat rump and potato finger tickles these together! fry, letchery, fry!—

Dio.

But will you then?

Cre.

In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.

Dio.

Give me some token for the Surety of it.

Cre.

I'll fetch you one.

Ulys.

You have sworn patience.

Troi.
Fear me not, sweet lord,
I will not be my self, nor have cognition
Of what I feel: I am all patience. Re-Enter Cressida.

Ther.
Now the pledge; now, now, now.—

Cre.
Here, Diomede, keep this sleeve.

Troi.
O beauty! where's thy faith?

Ulys.
My lord.

Troi.
I will be patient, outwardly I will.

Cre.
You look upon that sleeve; behold it well:—
He lov'd me:—O false wench!—Give't me again.

Dio.
Whose was't?

Cre.
It is no matter, now I have't again.
I will not meet with you to morrow night:
I pr'ythee, Diomede, visit me no more.

Ther.
Now she sharpens: well said, whetstone.

Dio.
I shall have it.

Cre.
What, this?

Dio.
Ay, that.

Cre.
O, all ye Gods!—O pretty, pretty pledge;

Thy master now lyes thinking in his bed
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it:
As I kiss thee.—(46) ^note


Nay, do not snatch it from me:
He, that takes that, must take my heart withal.

Dio.
I had your heart before, this follows it.

Troi.
I did swear patience.

Cre.
You shall not have it, Diomede: 'faith, you shall not,
I'll give you something else.

Dio.
I will have this: whose was it?

Cre.
'Tis no matter.

Dio.
Come, tell me whose it was?

Cre.
'Twas one that lov'd me better than you will.
But now you have it, take it.

Dio.
Whose was it?

Cre.
By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,
And by her self, I will not tell you whose.

Dio.
To morrow will I wear it on my helm,
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

Troi.
Wert thou the Devil, and wor'st it on thy horn,
It should be challeng'd.

Cre.
Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not—
I will not keep my word,

Dio.
Why then, farewel,
Thou never shalt mock Diomede again.

Cre.
You shall not go;—one cannot speak a word,
But it straight starts you.

Dio.
I do not like this fooling.

Ther.

Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you, pleases me best.

Dio.

What, shall I come? the hour?

Cre.
Ay, come:—O Jove!—do, come:—I shall be plagu'd.

Dio.
Farewell 'till then. [Exit.

Cre.
Good night: I pr'ythee, come.
Troilus, farewel; one eye yet looks on thee,
But with my heart the other eye doth see.—
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
What error leads, must err: O then conclude,
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. [Exit.

Ther.
A proof of strength she could not publish more;
Unless she say, my mind is now turn'd whore.

Ulys.
All's done, my lord.

Troi.
It is.

Ulys.
Why stay we then?

Troi.
To make a recordation to my soul,
Of every syllable that here was spoke:
But if I tell how these two did co-act,
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
An esperance so obstinately strong,
That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears;(47) ^note

Ulys.
I cannot conjure, Trojan.

Troi.
She was not, sure.

Ulys.
Most sure, she was.

Troi.
Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

Ulys.
Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but now.

Troi.
Let it not be believ'd, for woman-hood!
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
To stubborn criticks, apt, without a theme
For depravation, to square all the sex
By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid.

Ulys.
What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?

Troi.
Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

Ther.
Will he swagger himself out of his own eyes?

Troi.
This she? no, this is Diomede's Cressida.
If beauty have a soul, this is not she:
If souls guide vows, if vows are sanctimony,
If sanctimony be the Gods' delight,
If there be rule in unity it self,
This is not she. O madness of discourse!
That cause sets up with and against thy self!
Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt. This is, and is not Cressid.
Within my soul there doth commence a fight
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
Divides far wider than the sky and earth;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As slight Arachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance, strong as Pluto's gates!
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heav'n:
Instance, O instance, strong as heav'n it self!
The bonds of heav'n are slip'd, dissolv'd and loos'd,
And with another knot five-finger-tied,
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasie reliques
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomede.

Ulys.
May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
With that which here his passion doth express?

Troi.
Ay, Greek, and that shall be divulged well;
In characters, as red as Mars his heart
Inflam'd with Venus—ne'er did young man fancy
With so eternal, and so fix'd a soul—
Hark, Greek, as much as I do Cressid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomede.
That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear in his helm:
Were it a cask compos'd by Vulcan's skill,
My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout,
Which ship-men do the hurricano call,
Constring'd in mass by the almighty Sun,
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear

In his descent, than shall my prompted sword
Falling on Diomede.

Ther.
He'll tickle it for his concupy.

Troi.
O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they'll seem glorious.

Ulys.
O, contain your self:
Your passion draws ears hither. Enter Æneas.

Æne.
I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy.
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.

Troi.
Have with you, Prince; my courteous lord, adieu.
Farewel, revolted Fair: and, Diomede,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head!

Ulys.
I'll bring you to the gates.

Troi.
Accept distracted thanks. [Exeunt Troilus, Æneas, and Ulysses.

Ther.

Would, I could meet that rogue Diomede, I would croak like a raven: I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore: the parrot will not do more for an almond, than he for a commodious drab: letchery, letchery, still wars and letchery, nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!