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Pan. Thou must.
Cre. I will not, uncle': I've forgot my father.
I know no touch of consanguinity:
No kin, no love, no blood, no foul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine !
Make Cressid's name the very crown of-falsehood,
If ever the leave Troilus. Time, Force, and
Do to this body what extremes you can;
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all to it. I'll go and weep,
Pan. Do, do.
Cre. Tear my bright hair, and sèratch my
praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart With founding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy.
SCENE, before Pandarus's House. Enter PARI'S, TROILUS, ENEAS, DEIPHOBUS,
TENOR, and DIOMEDES. Par. It is great morning, and the hour prefixed Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon us : good my brother Troilus,
*(34) Time and Death
Do to this body, &c.] The firft Folio reads,
Time, orce andeDeath. When the fecond imprellion came to be publithed, the editors, I presume, were at a loss, and so funk the word upon us which they could not make out. There is no doubt but the Poet wrore ;
Time, Force, and Death. i. e. The coinpullon of Fate; that which the Latin called Keva neceffitas.
you the Lady what she is to do, And halte her to the purpose.
Troi. Walk into her house :
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
i 'hink it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his heart.
Par. I know what it's to love;
And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
Please you, walk in, my Lords. [Exeunt.
Scen E, an Apartment in Pandarus's House.
Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA.
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.
Cre. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,
And in its sense is no less strong than 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 drofs:
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Pan. Here, here, here he comes,---a sweet duck!...
Cre. O Troilus, Troilus !
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! let me
O heart, (as the goodly saying is ;)
“ O heart, O heavy heart,
“ Why figheft thou without breaking?" where he answers again;
“ Because thou canst not ease thy smart,
“ By friendship nor by speaking.' VOL. XI.
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such 2 verse; we see it, we fee it. How now, lambs?
Troi. Creflid, I love thee in so strange a purity,
That the blessed Gods, as angry with my fancy,
(More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities) take thee from me.
Cre. Have the gods envy?
Pan. Ay, ay, 'tis too plain a case.
Cre. And is it true that I must go from Troy?
Troi. A hateful truth!
Cre. What, and from Troilus too?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Gre. Is it possible ?
Troi. And suddenly: while injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our locked embraces, strangles our dear vows,
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath,
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Each other bought, must poorly fell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's hafte,
Crams his rich thiev'ry up, he knows pot how.
As many farewels as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu ;
And fcants us with a single famished kiss,
Distafted with the salt of broken tears.
Æne. within.] My Lord, is the lady ready?
Troi. Hark! you are called. Some say, the Ge.
Cries, Come, to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
Pan. Where are my tears? rain to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root.
[Exit Pandarus. Gre. I must then to the Grecians ? Troi. No remedy.
Cre. A woeful Creflid ’mongst the merry Greeks?: When shall we see again? Troi. Hear me, my love; be thou but true of
heart.---Cre. I true! how now? what wicked deem is
Troi. 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.
Cre. O you shall be exposed, my Lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent; but I'll be true.
Troi. And I'll
grow friend with danger. Wear
Cre. And you this glove. When shall I see you?
Troi. I will corrupt the Grecian centinels
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.
Cre. O Heavens ! be true, again?
Troi. Hear why I speak it, love: The Grecian youths are full of subtle qualities, They're loving, well compofed, with gifts of nature Flowing, and swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; How novelties may move, and parts with person--Alas, a kind of godly jealousy (Which I befeech you call a virtuous sin) Makes me afraid.
Cre. O Heavens, you love me not !
Troi. Die I a villain then !-------
In this I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit: I cannot fing,
Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor sweeten talk;
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtries all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and
preg. But I can tell, that in each grace of these [nant. There lurks a still and dumb discoursive devil, That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.
Cre. Do you think I will?
But something may be done, that we will not:
And fometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
Æne. within.] Nay, good my Lord,
Troi. Come, kiss, and let us part.
Par, within.] Brother Troilus--.....
: Troi. Good brother, come you hither,
And bring Æneas and the Grecian with you..
Cre. My Lord, will you be true?
Troi. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
While others fish, with craft, for great opinion,
I with great truth, catch mere simplicity:
While fume with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainnels I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.
Enter #NEAS, PARIS, and DIOMEDES.
Welcome, Sir Diomede; here is the lady,
Whom for Antenor we deliver you.
At the port (Lord) I'll give her to thy hand,
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair; and by my soul, fair Greek,