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?

Troi.
Cressid, I love thee in so ^{6 note}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, 'tis too plain a case.

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

Troi.
A hateful truth!

Cre.
What, and from Troilus too?

Troi.
From Troy, and Troilus.

Cre.
Is it possible?

Troi.
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 embraces, strangles our dear vows,
Ev'n 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 thiev'ry 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 all in one loose adieu;
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

Æneas within.]
My Lord, is the lady ready?

Troi.
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.

Pan.

Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root.

Cre.
I must then to the Grecians?

Troi.
No remedy.

Cre.
A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?

Troi.
Hear me, my love; be thou but true of heart—

Cre.
I true! how now? what wicked Deem is this?

Troi.
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:—
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
^{7 note}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.

Cre.
O, you shall be expos'd, my Lord, to dangers
As infinite, as imminent. But, I'll be true:

Troi.

And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.

Cre.
And you this glove. When shall I see you?

Troi.
I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.

Cre.
O heav'ns! be true, again?

Troi.
Hear, why I speak it, love.
The Grecian youths are full of subtle quality,
They're loving, 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 afraid.

Cre.
O heav'ns, you love me not!

Troi.
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 la Volt; 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?

Troi.
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.

Æneas within.]
Nay, good my lord,—

Troi.
Come, kiss, and let us part.

Paris within.]
Brother Troilus,—

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

Cre.
My Lord, will you be true?

Troi.
Who I? alas, it is my Vice, my fault.
While others, fish, with craft, for great opinion;
I, with great truth, ^{8 note}catch meer simplicity.
While some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; ^{9 note}


the moral of my wit
Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.

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