Have you seen my cousin?
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 those fields
Where I may wallow in the lily beds
Proposed for the deserver! O, gentle Pandar,
From Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings
And fly with me to Cressid!
Walk here i’ th’ orchard. I’ll bring her straight.
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 taste indeed
Love’s thrice-repurèd nectar? Death, I fear me,
Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine,
Too subtle-potent, tuned 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.
She’s making her ready; she’ll come straight.
You must be witty now. She does so blush and
fetches her wind so short as if she were frayed with
a spirit. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain. She
fetches her breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow.
Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom.
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,
And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
Like vassalage at unawares encount’ring
The eye of majesty.