Troi.
Dear, trouble not your self; the morn is cold.

Cre.
Then, sweet my lord, I'll call my uncle down:
He shall unbolt the gates.

Troi.
Trouble him not—
To bed, to bed—sleep seal those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants empty of all thought!

Cre.
Good-morrow then.

Troi.
I pr'ythee now to bed.

Cre.
Are you a weary of me?

Troi.
O Cressida! but that the busie day,
Wak'd by the lark, has rous'd the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.

Cre.
Night hath been too brief.

Troi.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
Tedious as hell; but flies the grasps of love,
With wings more momentary-swift than thought:
You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cre.
Pr'ythee tarry—you men will never tarry—
O foolish Cressida—I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up.

Pan. within]
What's all the doors open here?

Troi.
It is your uncle. Enter Pandarus.

Cre.
A pestilence on him; now will he be mocking;
I shall have such a life—

Pan.

How now, how now? how go maiden-heads? Hear you maid; where's my cousin Cressid?

Cre.
Go hang your self, you naughty mocking uncle:
You bring me to do—and then you flout me too.

Pan.

To do what? to do what? let her say what: What have I brought you to do?

Cre.

Come come, beshrew your heart; you'll ne'er be good; nor suffer others.

Pan.

Ha, ha! alas poor wretch; a poor Chipochia, hast not sleept to-night? would he not (a naughty man) let it sleep? a bug-bear take him.

Cre.

Did I not tell you?—would he were knock'd o'th' head—who's that at door?—good uncle, go and see.—My lord, come you again into my chamber:—you smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Troi.

Ha, ha—

Cre.
Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing.
How earnestly they knock—pray you come in. [Knock.
I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt.

Pan.

Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? how now? what's the matter?