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.— [Diomedes snatches the sleeve.
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.
^{3 note}By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,
And by herself, 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 plagued,

Dio.
Farewel '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.

Previous section

Next section