Pan.

Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost: the devil take Antenor; the young prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor; I would they had broke's neck.

Cre.

How now? what's the matter? who was here?

Pan.

Ah, ah!—

Cre.

Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord? gone! tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan.

Would I were as deep under the earth, as I am above.

Cre.

O the gods! what's the matter?

Pan.

Pr'ythee get thee in; would thou had'st ne'er been born: I knew thou would'st be his death. O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor.

Cre.

Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees, I beseech you what's the matter?

Pan.

Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone: thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou must go to thy father, and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre.
O you immortal gods! I will not go.

Pan.
Thou must.

Cre.
I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father.
I know no touch of Consanguinity:
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine!
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falshood,
If ever she leave Troilus. Time and death,
Do to this body what extreams you can;
But the strong base and building of my love
Is, as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all to it. I'll go in and weep.

Pan.
Do, do.

Cre.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart
With sounding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy. [Exeunt.

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