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;
As if those organs had deceptious functions,
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here?

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 was 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 itself,
This is not she. O madness of discourse!
That cause sets up with and against thyself!
Bi-fold authority! ^{4 note}

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 itself!
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 does 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 yourself:
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 do no 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!

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