Pand. Helenus!  No, yes; he’ll fight indifferently well.—­I marvel in my heart what’s become of Troilus:—­Hark! do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?—­Helenus is a priest, and keeps a whore; he’ll fight for his whore, or he’s no true priest, I warrant him.

  Enter TROILUS passing over.

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

Pand. Where, yonder? that’s Deiphobus:  No, I lie.  I lie, that’s Troilus! there’s a man, niece! hem!  O brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry, and flower of fidelity!

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace!

Pand. Nay, but mark him then!  O brave Troilus! there’s a man of men, niece! look you how his sword is bloody, and his helmet more hacked than Hector’s, and how he looks, and how he goes!  O admirable youth! he never saw two-and-twenty.  Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way! had I a sister were a grace, and a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice of them.  O admirable man!  Paris, Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant, Helen, to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to boot.

  Enter common Soldiers passing over.

Cres. Here come more.

Pand. Asses, fools, dolts, dirt, and dung, stuff, and lumber, porridge after meat; but I could live and die with Troilus.  Ne’er look, niece, ne’er look, the lions are gone:  apes and monkeys, the fag end of the creation.  I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.

Cres. There’s Achilles among the Greeks, he’s a brave man.

Pand. Achilles! a carman, a beast of burden; a very camel:  have you any eyes, niece? do you know a man? is he to be compared with Troilus?

  Enter Page.

Page. Sir, my lord Troilus would instantly speak with you.

Pand. Where boy, where?

Page. At his own house, if you think convenient.

Pand. Good boy, tell him I come instantly:  I doubt he’s wounded.  Farewell, good niece.  But I’ll be with you by and by.

Cres. To bring me, uncle!

Pand. Ay, a token from prince Troilus. [Exit PANDAR.

Cres.  By the same token, you are a procurer, uncle.

  CRESSIDA alone.

A strange dissembling sex we women are: 
Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive. 
Long has my secret soul loved Troilus;
I drunk his praises from my uncle’s mouth,
As if my ears could ne’er be satisfied: 
Why then, why said I not, I love this prince? 
How could my tongue conspire against my heart,
To say I loved him not?  O childish love! 
’Tis like an infant, froward in his play,
And what he most desires, he throws away. [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—­Troy.