ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ CRESSIDA _meeting._

_Pand._ Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad: A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke his neck!

_Cres._ How now? what's the matter? Who was here?

_Pand._ Oh, oh!

_Cres._ Why sigh you so? O, where's my Troilus? Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

_Pand._ Would I were as deep under the earth, as I am above it!

_Cres._ O, the gods! What's the matter?

_Pand._ Pr'ythee get thee in; would thou hadst never been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!

_Cres._ Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what's the matter?

_Pand._ Thou must be gone, girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive rogue-priest, thy father: (and he's my brother too; but that's all one at this time:) A pox upon Antenor!

_Cres._ O, ye immortal gods! I will not go.

_Pand._ Thou must, thou must.

_Cres._ I will not: I have quite forgot my father. I have no touch of birth, no spark of nature, No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me, As my dear Troilus!

_Enter_ TROILUS.

_Pand._ Here, here, here he comes, sweet duck!

_Cres._ O, Troilus, Troilus! [_They both weep over each other; she running into his arms._

_Pand._ What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too. _Oh, heart,_--as the saying is,-- _--o heart, o heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking!_ Where he answers again, _Because thou can'st 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?

_Troil._ Cressid, I love thee with so strange a purity, That the blest gods, angry with my devotions, More bright in zeal than that I pay their altars, Will take thee from my sight.

_Cres._ Have the gods envy?

_Pand._ Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case!

_Cres._ And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

_Troil._ A hateful truth.

_Cres._ What, and from Troilus too?

_Troil._ From Troy and Troilus,--and suddenly; So suddenly, 'tis counted out by minutes.

_Cres._ What, not an hour allowed for taking leave?

_Troil._ Even that's bereft us too: Our envious fates Jostle betwixt, and part the dear adieus Of meeting lips, clasped hands, and locked embraces.

_Æneas._ [_Within._] My lord, is the lady ready yet?

_Troil._ Hark, you are called!--Some say, the genius so Cries,--Come, to him who instantly must die.

_Pand._ Where are my tears? some rain to lay this wind, Or my heart will be blown up by the roots!

_Troil._ Hear me, my love! be thou but true, like me.

_Cres._ I true! how now, what wicked thought is this?

_Troil._ Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us. I spoke not, be thou true, as fearing thee; But be thou true, I said, to introduce My following protestation,--be thou true, And I will see thee.

_Cres._ You'll be exposed to dangers.

_Troil._ I care not; but be true.

_Cres._ Be true, again?

_Troil._ Hear why I speak it, love. The Grecian youths are full of Grecian arts: Alas! a kind of holy jealousy, Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin, Makes me afraid how far you may be tempted.

_Cres._ O heavens, you love me not!

_Troil._ Die I a villain then! In this I do not call your faith in question, But my own merit.

_Cres._ Fear not; I'll be true.

_Troil._ Then, fate, thy worst! for I will see thee, love; Not all the Grecian host shall keep me out, Nor Troy, though walled with fire, should hold me in.

_Æneas._ [_Within._] My lord, my lord Troilus! I must call you.

_Pand._ A mischief call him! nothing but screech-owls? do, do, call again; you had best part them now in the sweetness of their love!--I'll be hanged if this Æneas be the son of Venus, for all his bragging. Honest Venus was a punk; would she have parted lovers? no, he has not a drop of Venus' blood in him--honest Venus was a punk.

_Troil._ [_To Pand._] Pr'ythee, go out, and gain one minute more.

_Pand._ Marry and I will: follow you your business; lose no time, 'tis very precious; go, bill again: I'll tell the rogue his own, I warrant him. [_Exit_ PANDARUS.

_Cres._ What have we gained by this one minute more?

_Troil._ Only to wish another, and another, A longer struggling with the pangs of death.

_Cres._ O, those, who do not know what parting is, Can never learn to die!

_Troil._ When I but think this sight may be our last, If Jove could set me in the place of Atlas, And lay the weight of heaven and gods upon me, He could not press me more.

_Cres._ Oh let me go, that I may know my grief; Grief is but guessed, while thou art standing by: But I too soon shall know what absence is.

_Troil._ Why, 'tis to be no more; another name for death: 'Tis the sun parting from the frozen north; And I, methinks, stand on some icy cliff, To watch the last low circles that he makes, 'Till he sink down from heaven! O only Cressida, If thou depart from me, I cannot live: I have not soul enough to last for grief, But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me.

_Cres._ If I could live to hear it, I were false. But, as a careful traveller, who, fearing Assaults of robbers, leaves his wealth behind, I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks Bear but an empty casket.

_Troil._ Then I will live, that I may keep that treasure; And, armed with this assurance, let thee go, Loose, yet secure as is the gentle hawk, When, whistled off, she mounts into the wind. Our love's like mountains high above the clouds; Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet, Their peaceful heads nor storm nor thunder know, But scorn the threatening rack that rolls below. [_Exeunt._