Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart

With sounding ‘Troilus’. I will not go from Troy.

Exeunt

4.4 Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes

PARIS

It is great morning, and the hour prefixed

Of her delivery to this valiant Greek

Comes fast upon us. Good my brother Troilus,

Tell you the lady what she is to do,

And haste her to the purpose.

TROILUS

Walk into her house.

I’ll bring her to the Grecian presently—

And to his hand when I deliver her,

Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus

A priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.

PARIS I know what ’tis to love,

And would, as I shall pity, I could help.—

Please you walk in, my lords? ⌈Exeunt⌉

4.5 Enter Pandarus and Cressida

PANDARUS Be moderate, be moderate.

CRESSIDA

Why tell you me of moderation?

The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,

And violenteth in a sense as strong

As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?

If I could temporize with my affection

Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,

The like allayment could I give my grief.

My love admits no qualifying dross;

No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

Enter Troilus

PANDARUS Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!

CRESSIDA (embracing him) O Troilus, Troilus!

PANDARUS What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me

embrace you too. ‘O heart‘, as the goodly saying is,

‘O heart, heavy heart,

Why sigh’st thou without breaking?’

where he answers again

‘Because thou canst not ease thy smart

By friendship nor by speaking.’

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?

TROILUS

Cressid, I love thee in so strained 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.

CRESSIDA Have the gods envy?

PANDARUS Ay, ay, ay, ay, ’tis too plain a case.

CRESSIDA

And is it true that I must go from Troy?

TROILUS

A hateful truth.

CRESSIDA What, and from Troilus too?

TROILUS

From Troy and Troilus.

CRESSIDA Is’t possible?

TROILUS

And suddenty—where injury of chance

Puts back leave-taking, jostles roughly by

All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips

Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents

Our locked embrasures, strangles our dear vows

Even 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 farewells as be stars in heaven,

With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them,

He fumbles up into a loose adieu

And scants us with a single famished kiss,

Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

Enter Aeneas

AENEAS My lord, is the lady ready?

TROILUS (to Cressida)

Hark, you are called. Some say the genius so

Cries ‘Come!’ to him that instantly must die.

⌈To Pandarus⌉ Bid them have patience. She shall come

anon.

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

⌈Exit with Aeneas⌉

CRESSIDA

I must then to the Grecians.

TROILUS No remedy.

CRESSIDA

A woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!

When shall we see again?

TROILUS

Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart—

CRESSIDA

I true? How now! What wicked deem is this?

TROILUS

Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,

For it is parting from us.

I speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee—

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’.

CRESSIDA

O you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers

As infinite as imminent. But I’ll be true.

TROILUS

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

CRESSIDA

And you this glove. When shall I see you?

TROILUS

I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels

To give thee nightly visitation.

But yet, be true.

CRESSIDA O heavens! ’Be true’ again!

TROILUS Hear why I speak it, love.

The Grecian youths are full of quality,

Their loving well composed, with gifts of nature

flowing,

And swelling o’er with arts and exercise.

How novelty may move, and parts with person,

Alas, a kind of godly jealousy—

Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin—

Makes me afeard.

CRESSIDA O heavens, you love me not!

TROILUS

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 lavolt, nor sweeten talk,

Nor play at subtle games—fair virtues all,

To which the Grecians are most prompt and

pregnant.