Diom. I shall expect your promise.

Cres. I’ll perform it. 
Not a word more, good night—­I hope for ever: 
Thus to deceive deceivers is no fraud. [Aside.
                         [Exeunt DIOMEDE and CRESSIDA severally.

Ulys. All’s done, my lord.

Troil Is it?

Ulys. Pray let us go.

Troil. Was Cressida here?

Ulys. I cannot conjure, Trojan.

Troil. She was not, sure! she was not;
Let it not be believed, for womanhood: 
Think we had mothers, do not give advantage
To biting satire, apt without a theme
For defamation, to square all the sex
By Cressid’s rule; rather think this not Cressida.

Thers. Will he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?

Troil. This she! no, this was Diomede’s Cressida. 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she:—­
I cannot speak for rage;—­that ring was mine:—­
By heaven I gave it, in that point of time,
When both our joys were fullest!—­If he keeps it,
Let dogs eat Troilus.

Thers. He’ll tickle it for his concupy:  this will be sport to see!  Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore; a parrot will not do more for an almond, than he will for a commodious drab:—­I would I could meet with this rogue Diomede too:  I would croak like a raven to him; I would bode:  it shall go hard but I’ll find him out. [Exit THERSITES.

  Enter AENEAS.

AEn. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:  Hector by this is arming him in Troy.

Ulys. Commend me, gallant Troilus, to your brother: 
Tell him, I hope he shall not need to arm;
The fair Polyxena has, by a letter,
Disarmed our great Achilles of his rage.

Troil. This I shall say to Hector.

Ulys. So I hope.  Pray heaven Thersites have informed me true!—­ [Aside.

Troil. Good night, my lord; accept distracted thanks!
          
                                            [Exit ULYSSES.

Enter PANDARUS.

Pand. Hear ye, my lord, hear ye; I have been seeing yon poor girl.  There have been old doings there, i’faith.

Troil. [Aside.] Hold yet, my spirits:  let him pour it in:  The poison’s kind:  the more I drink of it, The sooner ’twill dispatch me.

AEn. to Pand. Peace, thou babbler!

Pand. She has been mightily made on by the Greeks:  she takes most wonderfully among ’em.  Achilles kissed her, and Patroclus kissed her:  nay, and old Nestor put aside his grey beard, and brushed her with his whiskers.  Then comes me Agamemnon with his general’s staff, diving with a low bow even to the ground, and rising again, just at her lips:  and after him came Ulysses, and Ajax, and Menelaus:  and they so pelted her, i’faith, pitter patter, pitter patter, as thick as hail-stones.  And after that, a whole rout of ’em:  never was a woman in Phrygia better kissed.