Act IV.
Scene II.
Scene II.—The Same. A Court before
PANDARUS' House.
Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA.
Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is
cold.
Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine
uncle down:
He shall unbolt the gates.
Tro. Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses
As infants' empty of all thought!
Cres. Good morrow then.
Tro. I prithee now, to bed.
Cres. Are you aweary of me?
Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no
longer,
I would not from thee.
Cres. Night hath been too brief
Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous
wights she stays
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.
Cres. Prithee, tarry:
You men will never tarry.
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark!
there's one up.
Pan. [Within.] What! are all the doors open
here?
Tro. It is your uncle.
Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he be:
mocking: I shall have such a life!
Enter PANDARUS.
Pan. How now, how now! how go maiden-
heads?
Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid?
Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking
uncle!
You bring me to do—and then you flout me too.
Pan. To do what? to do what? let her say
what; what have I brought you to do?
Cres. Come, come; beshrew your heart!
you'll ne'er be good,
Nor suffer others.
Pan. Ha, ha! Alas; poor wretch! a poor
capocchia! hast not slept to-night? would he
not, a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take
him!
Cres. Did not I tell you? 'would he were
knock'd o' the head! [Knocking within.
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.
My lord, come you again into my chamber:
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant
naughtily.
Tro. Ha, ha!
Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no
such thing. [Knocking within.
How earnestly they knock! Pray you, come in:
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA.
Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there?
what's the matter? will you beat down the
door? How now i what's the matter?
Enter ÆNEAS.
Æne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Pan. Who's there? my Lord Æneas! By my
troth,
I knew you not: what news with you so early?
Æne. Is not Prince Troilus here?
Pan. Here! what should he do here?
Æne. Come, he is here, my lord: do not
deny him: it doth import him much to speak
with me.
Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than
I know, I'll be sworn: for my own part, I came
in late. What should he do here?
Æne. Who! nay, then: come, come, you 'll
do him wrong ere you're 'ware. You'll be so
true to him, to be false to him. Do not you
know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.
Re-enter TROILUS.
Tro. How now! what's the matter?
Æne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to
salute you,
My matter is so rash: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The Lady Cressida.
Tro. Is it so concluded?
Æne. By Priam, and the general state of
Troy:
They are at hand and ready to effect it.
Tro. How my achievements mock me!
I will go meet them: and, my Lord Æneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here.
Æne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of
nature
Have hot more gift in taciturnity.
[Exeunt TROILUS and ÆNEAS.
Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got but lost?
The devil take Antenor! the young prince will
go mad: a plague upon Antenor! I would they
had broke's neck!
Enter CRESSIDA.
Cres. How now! What is the matter? Who
was here?
Pan. Ah! ah!
Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's
my lord? gone! Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the
matter?
Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth
as I am above!
Cres. O the gods! what's the matter?
Pan. Prithee, get thee in. Would thou hadst
ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his
death. O poor gentleman! A plague upon
Antenor!
Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees
I beseech you, what's the matter?
Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must
be gone; thou art changed for Anterior. Thou
must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus:
'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot
bear it.
Cres. O you immortal gods! I will not go.
Pan. Thou must.
Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my
father;
I know no touch of consanguinity;
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine!
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
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 things to it. I'll go in and weep,—
Pan. Do, do.
Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my
prais'd cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my
heart
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.
[Exeunt.
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