Cressida

Alexander
The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector.
They call him Ajax.
Cressida
Good; and what of him?
Alexander
They say he is a very man per se
And stands alone.
Cressida
So do all men unless they are drunk,
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Pandarus
Mark him. Note him. O brave Troilus! Look
well upon him, niece. Look you how his sword is
bloodied and his helm more hacked than Hector’s,
and how he looks, and how he goes. O admirable
youth! He never saw three and twenty.—Go thy
way, Troilus; go thy way!—Had I a sister were a
Grace,
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Cressida
Adieu, uncle.
Pandarus
I will be with you, niece, by and by.
Cressida
To bring, uncle?
Pandarus
Ay, a token from Troilus.
Cressida
By the same token, you are a bawd.
Pandarus exits.
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice
He offers in another’s enterprise;
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Cressida
Will you walk in, my lord?
Troilus
O Cressid, how often have I wished me thus!
Cressida
“Wished,” my lord? The gods grant—O, my lord!
Troilus
What should they grant? What makes this
pretty abruption? What too-curious dreg espies
my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?
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Cressida
Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart.
Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day
For many weary months.
Troilus
Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
Cressida
Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,
With the first glance that ever—pardon me;
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Troilus
What offends you, lady?
Cressida
Sir, mine own company.
Troilus
You cannot shun yourself.
Cressida
Let me go and try.
I have a kind of self resides with you,
But an unkind self that itself will leave
To be another’s fool. I would be gone.
Where is my wit?
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Cressida
Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I
beseech you, what’s the matter?
Pandarus
Thou must be gone, wench; thou must be
gone. Thou art changed for Antenor. Thou must to
thy father and be gone from Troilus. ‘Twill be his
death; ’twill be his bane. He cannot bear it.
Cressida
O you immortal gods!
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Pandarus
Be moderate, be moderate.
Cressida
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
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Cressida
And is it true that I must go from Troy?
Troilus
A hateful truth.
Cressida
What, and from Troilus too?
Troilus
From Troy and Troilus.
Cressida
Is ‘t possible?

We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
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Cressida
A woeful Cressid ‘mongst the merry Greeks.
When shall we see again?
Troilus
Hear me, my  love. Be thou but true of heart—
Cressida
I true? How now, what wicked deem is this?
Troilus
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us.
I speak not “Be thou true”
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