A woeful Cressid ‘mongst the merry Greeks
A woeful Cressid ‘mongst the merry Greeks.
When shall we see again?
Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart—
I true? How now, what wicked deem is this?
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 is 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.”
O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true.
And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
And you this glove. When shall I see you?
They exchange love-tokens.