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Troi. I will be patient; outwardly I will.
Cres. You look upon that sleeve; behold it

well.He loved me-- 0 false wench !–Give me again.

Dio. Whose was 't?

Cres. It is no matter, now I have't again. ! will not meet with you to-morrow night: I pr’ythee, Diomed, visit me no more.

Ther. Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone!
Dio. I shall have it.
Cres.

What, this?

Dio.

Ay, that.

Cres. O, all you gods !-O pretty, pretty pledge!
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.
Troi. 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. Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you

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

Whose was it?

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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.
Troi. Wert thou the devil, and worest it on thy

horn,
It should be challenged.
Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past ;-and yet it

is not:
I will not keep my word.
Dio.

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

word,
But it straight starts you.
Dio.

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

Dio. What, shall I come ? the hour?
Cres.

Ay, come.-0 Jove !-
Do come.--I shall be plagued.
Dio.

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

[Erit 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 :

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ii. e. the stars.

6

What error leads, must err: 0, 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.' Ulys. All 's done, my lord. Troi.

It is. Ulys.

Why stay we then ?
Troi. To make a recordation 1 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?
Ulys.

I cannot conjure, Trojan.
Troi. She was not, sure.
Ulys.

Most sure she was.
Troi. Why, my negation hath no taste of mad.

ness.
Ulys. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,
For depravation, to square the general sex
By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid.
Ulys. What hath she done, prince, that can soil

now. Troi. Let it not be believed for 3 womanhood !

I Remembrance.

Since.

3 For the sake of.

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

eyes !

Troi. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida : If beauty have a soul, this is not she; if souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, 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! Bifold 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 subtile
As Ariachne'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;

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i Cynics.

2 i e. the plighted troth of lovers.

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