_Pan_. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
_Cre_. O Troylus! Troylus! [Embracing him]
_Pan_. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O
heart,’ as the goodly saying is, O heart, 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 was never 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!
_Troy_. Creſſid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity
That the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
_Cre_. Have the gods envy?
_Pan_. Ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.
_Cre_. And is it true that I must go from Troy?
_Troy_. A hateful truth.
_Cre_. What, and from Troylus too?
_Troy_. From Troy and Troylus.
_Cre_. Is’t possible?
_Troy_. 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 lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring 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 consign’d kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
And scants us with a single famish’d kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
_Æne_. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready?
_Troy_. Hark! you are call’d. 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 th’ root?
Exit
_Cre_. I must then to the Grecians?
_Troy_. No remedy.
_Cre_. A woeful Creſſid ’mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?
_Troy_. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart-
_Cre_. I true! how now! What wicked deem is this?
_Troy_. 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
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.
_Cre_. O, you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.
_Troy_. And I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
_Cre_. And you this glove. When shall I see you?
_Troy_. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.
_Cre_. O heavens! ‘Be true’ again!
_Troy_. Hear why I speak it, love.
The Grecian youths are full of quality;
They’re loving, well compos’d with gifts of nature,
And flowing o’er with arts and exercise.
How novelties may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy,
Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin,
Makes me afeard.
_Cre_. O heavens! you love me not.
_Troy_. 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,
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.
_Cre_. Do you think I will?
_Troy_. 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.
_Æne_. [Within] Nay, good my lord!
_Troy_. Come, kiss; and let us part.
_Par_. [Within] Brother Troylus!
_Troy_. Good brother, come you hither;
And bring Æneas and the Grecian with you.
_Cre_. My lord, will you be true?
_Troy_. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!
Whiles 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.