My love admits no qualifying dross;

No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

Enter TROILUS.

Pan. Here, here, here he comes.-Ah sweet ducks! Cres. O Troilus! Troilus!

[Embracing him. Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. O heart, as the goodly saying is,

O heart, O 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 never was 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?

Tro. 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.
Cres. Have the gods envy y?

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.
Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Tro. A hateful truth.

Cres.

What, and from Troilus too?

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cres.

Is it possible?

Tro. And suddenly; where 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 embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own laboring 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 thievery up, he knows not how.
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,

With distinct breath and consigned1 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.

Ene. [Within.] My lord! is the lady ready?
Tro. Hark! you are called: some say, the Genius so
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!

Cres. I must then to the Greeks?
Tro.

Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the

When shall we see again?

[Exit PANDARUs.

No remedy. merry Greeks.

Tro. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of

heart,

Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem 2 is this?

Tro. 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,3
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.

Cres. O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true.

Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger.

sleeve.

Wear this

Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you?

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,

To give thee nightly visitation.

But yet be true.

Cres.

O heavens!-Be true again?

1 Consigned means sealed, from consigno (Lat.).

2 Deem (a word now obsolete) signifies opinion, surmise.

3 That is, I will challenge death himself in defence of thy fidelity.

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love.

The Grecian youths are full of quality;

They're 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.

Cres.

O Heavens! you love me not.

Tro. 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,

2

Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,

To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant; But I can tell, that in each grace of these

There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil,

That tempts most cunningly but be not tempted.
Cres. Do you think I will?

Tro. No.

But something may be done, that we will not;
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,

When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
Ene. [Within.] Nay, good my lord,

Tro.

Come, kiss; and let us part

Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus! Tro. Good brother, come you hither And bring Eneas, and the Grecian, with you. Cres. My lord, will you be true?

Tro. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault. While others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity: Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.

1 Quality, like condition, is applied to manners as well as dispositions.