_Pan_. O, here he comes. How now, how now!
_Troy_. Sirrah, walk off. Exit Boy
_Pan_. Have you seen my cousin?
_Troy_. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to these fields
Where I may wallow in the lily beds
Propos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,
From Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with me to Creſſid!
_Pan_. Walk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight.
Exit
_Troy_. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
Th’ imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense; what will it be
When that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed
Love’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;
Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine,
Too subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness,
For the capacity of my ruder powers.
I fear it much; and I do fear besides
That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
The enemy flying.