_Cre_. How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?
_Pan_. Ah, ah!
_Cre_. 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!
_Cre_. O the gods! What’s the matter?
_Pan_. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew
thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
_Cre_. 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 chang’d
for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troylus. ’Twill
be his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
_Cre_. O you immortal gods! I will not go.
_Pan_. Thou must.
_Cre_. 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 Troylus. O you gods divine,
Make Creſſid’s name the very crown of falsehood,
If ever she leave Troylus! 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.
_Cre_. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,
With sounding ‘Troylus.’ I will not go from Troy.
Exeunt