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       CRESSIDA.

       Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.

       TROILUS.

       O beauty! where is thy faith?

       ULYSSES.

       My lord!

       TROILUS.

       I will be patient; outwardly I will.

       CRESSIDA.

       You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.

       He lov’d me O false wench! Give’t me again.

       DIOMEDES.

       Whose was’t?

       CRESSIDA.

       It is no matter, now I have’t again.

       I will not meet with you tomorrow night.

       I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.

       THERSITES.

       Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.

       DIOMEDES.

       I shall have it.

       CRESSIDA.

       What, this?

       DIOMEDES.

       Ay, that.

       CRESSIDA.

       O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!

       Thy master now lies thinking on 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 doth take my heart withal.

       DIOMEDES.

       I had your heart before; this follows it.

       TROILUS.

       I did swear patience.

       CRESSIDA.

       You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;

       I’ll give you something else.

       DIOMEDES.

       I will have this. Whose was it?

       CRESSIDA.

       It is no matter.

       DIOMEDES.

       Come, tell me whose it was.

       CRESSIDA.

       ‘Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.

       But, now you have it, take it.

       DIOMEDES.

       Whose was it?

       CRESSIDA.

       By all Diana’s waiting women yond,

       And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

       DIOMEDES.

       Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm,

       And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

       TROILUS.

       Wert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,

       It should be challeng’d.

       CRESSIDA.

       Well, well, ‘tis done, ‘tis past; and yet it is not;

       I will not keep my word.

       DIOMEDES.

       Why, then farewell;

       Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

       CRESSIDA.

       You shall not go. One cannot speak a word

       But it straight starts you.

       DIOMEDES.

       I do not like this fooling.

       THERSITES.

       Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you

       Pleases me best.

       DIOMEDES.

       What, shall I come? The hour?

       CRESSIDA.

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

       DIOMEDES.

       Farewell till then.

       CRESSIDA.

       Good night. I prithee 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.]

       THERSITES.

       A proof of strength she could not publish more,

       Unless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’

       ULYSSES.

       All’s done, my lord.

       TROILUS.

       It is.

       ULYSSES.

       Why stay we, then?

       TROILUS.

       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 th’ attest of eyes and ears;

       As if those organs had deceptious functions

       Created only to calumniate.

       Was Cressid here?

       ULYSSES.

       I cannot conjure, Trojan.

       TROILUS.

       She was not, sure.

       ULYSSES.

       Most sure she was.

       TROILUS.

       Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

       ULYSSES.

       Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.

       TROILUS.

       Let it not be believ’d for womanhood.

       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.

       ULYSSES.

       What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?

       TROILUS.

       Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

       THERSITES.

       Will he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?

       TROILUS.

       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 god’s 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

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