Troil. It must not be, my brother;
For then your error would be more than mine: 
I’ll bring her forth, and you shall bear her hence;
That you have pitied me is my reward.

Hect. Go, then; and the good gods restore her to thee,
And, with her, all the quiet of thy mind! 
The triumph of this kindness be thy own;
  And heaven and earth this testimony yield,
  That friendship never gained a nobler field. [Exeunt severally.

ACT IV.  SCENE I.

  Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA meeting.

Pand. Is’t possible? no sooner got but lost?  The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad:  A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke his neck!

Cres. How now? what’s the matter?  Who was here?

Pand. Oh, oh!

Cres. Why sigh you so?  O, where’s my Troilus?  Tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?

Pand. Would I were as deep under the earth, as I am above it!

Cres. O, the gods!  What’s the matter?

Pand. Pr’ythee get thee in; would thou hadst never been born!  I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh, poor gentleman!  A plague upon Antenor!

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what’s the matter?

Pand. Thou must be gone, girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive rogue-priest, thy father:  (and he’s my brother too; but that’s all one at this time:) A pox upon Antenor!

Cres. O, ye immortal gods!  I will not go.

Pand. Thou must, thou must.

Cres. I will not:  I have quite forgot my father. 
I have no touch of birth, no spark of nature,
No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me,
As my dear Troilus!

Enter TROILUS.

Pand. Here, here, here he comes, sweet duck!

Cres. O, Troilus, Troilus! [They both weep over each other;
                                      she running into his arms.

Pand. What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too. Oh,
heart,—­as the saying is,—­
    _—­o heart, o heavy heart,
    Why sigh’st thou without breaking!_
Where he answers again,
  Because thou can’st 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?

Troil. Cressid, I love thee with so strange a purity,
That the blest gods, angry with my devotions,
More bright in zeal than that I pay their altars,
Will take thee from my sight.

Cres. Have the gods envy?

Pand. Ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case!

Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?