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Creś. . . What this?

.. Ay, that. :
Cres. O, all you gods !--. pretty pretty f.dge!
Thy master now lies 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.-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. Tro. I did swear patience. Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed;: 'faith you

shall not ;
I'll give you something else. :

Dio. I will have this; Whose was it?
Cres. ; '.:. .. 'Tis no matter.
Dio. Come, tell me whose it was.

is Cres. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you

will. But, now you have it, take it. Dio. .

Whose was it? : · Cres. *? 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. ' Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy

horn, It should be challeng’d. Cres. Well, well, ’tis done, 'tis past;—And yet it

is not; I will not keep my word.


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Why then, farewell ; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. Cres. You shall not go:-One cannot speak a

word, But it straight starts you.

I do not like this fooling. Ther. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you, pleases me best.

Div. What, shall I come? the hour?

Ay, come:-0 Jove!-
Do come:- I shall be plagu’d.

Farewell till then. Cres. Good night. I pr’ythee, come.

[Exit Diomedes. Troilus, farewell! 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 Cressida. Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish

: more,
Unless she said, My mind is now turn'd whore.

Ulyss. All's done, my lord.

It is.

Why stay we then? Tro. 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 the attest of eyes and ears;
As if those organs had deceptious functions,
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here?

Ulyss. . I cannot conjure, Trojan.
Tro. She was not, sure.

Most sure she was. . Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but

now. Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood! Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage To stubborn criticks-apt, without a theme, For depravation,—to square the general sex . By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil

our mothers ? Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. Ther. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes?

Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:
If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony,
If sanctimony be the gods’ delight,
If there be rule in unity itself,
This was not she. O madness of discourse,
That cause sets up with and against itself!
Bi-fold authority! 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 more wider than the sky and earth;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:
Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd;
And with another knot, five-finger-tied, “3
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
With that which here his passion doth express?

Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well In characters as red as Mars his heart Inflam'd with Venus: never 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 Diomed: That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm; Were it a casque compos’d by Vulcan's skill, My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout, Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear,

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