Lady S. Forgive me that.—Europa Troop:
It's not for love, the world and I know well,
You tossed her Cressida. The wanton salt
Of her, so loathsome to a passionate mind,
Is admirable here; and art demands
This sacrifice besides, since it may be
That you should give the hated Warwick Groom
A part predicting him, so like a glove
It fits him.
Sir T. Let me think; and you—think you:
Will "Troilus and Cressida" succeed?
Lady S. I think it will; if you salute what chance
Provides, a perfect Troilus.
Sir T. Do you feel
The fit upon you—your telepathic mood?
Lady S. I hardly know: I think the play is safe.
Sir T. If Groom plays Troilus?
Lady S. If Groom plays Troilus.
Sir T. You say he knows the part. How can that be?
Lady S. That you must ask him.
Sir T. Martha!