Calch. No more:  retire. [Exit CRESSIDA.

  Enter DIOMEDE:  TROILUS and ULYSSES appear listening at one
  Door, and THERSITES watching at another.

Diom. I came to see your daughter, worthy Calchas.

Calch. My lord, I’ll call her to you. [Exit CALCHAS.

Ulys. [To TROIL.] Stand where the torch may not discover us.

  Enter CRESSIDA.

Troil. Cressida comes forth to him!

Diom. How now, my charge?

Cres. Now, my sweet guardian; hark, a word with you. [Whisper.

Troil. Ay, so familiar!

Diom. Will you remember?

Cres. Remember? yes.

Troil. Heavens, what should she remember!  Plague and madness!

Ulys. Prince, you are moved:  let us depart in time,
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terms:  this place is dangerous;
The time unlit:  beseech you, let us go.

Troil. I pray you stay; by hell, and by hell’s torments, I will not speak a word.

Diom. I’ll hear no more:  good night.

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger!

Troil. Does that grieve thee?  O withered truth!

Diom. Farewell, cozener.

Cres. Indeed I am not:  pray, come back again.

Ulys. You shake, my lord, at something:  will you go?  You will break out.

Troil. By all the gods I will not.  There is, between my will and all my actions, A guard of patience:  stay a little while.

Thers. [aside.] How the devil luxury, with his fat rump, and potato-finger, tickles these together!—­Put him off a little, you foolish harlot! ’twill sharpen him the more.

Diom. But will you then?

Cres. I will, as soon as e’er the war’s concluded.

Diom Give me some token, for the surety of it; The ring I saw you wear.

Cres. [Giving it.] If you must have it.

Troil. The ring? nay, then, ’tis plain!  O beauty, where’s thy faith!

Ulys. You have sworn patience.

Thers. That’s well, that’s well, the pledge is given; hold her to her word, good devil, and her soul’s thine, I warrant thee.

Diom. Whose was’t?

Cres. By all Diana’s waiting train of stars, And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

Diom. Why then thou lov’st him still:  farewell for ever:  Thou never shalt mock Diomede again.

Cres. You shall not go:  one cannot speak a word, But straight it starts you.

Diom. I do not like this fooling.

Thers. Nor I, by Pluto:  but that, which likes not you, pleases me best.