Troil. Dear Pandarus—
Pand. Pray speak no more on't; I'll not burn my fingers in another body's business; I'll leave it as I found it, and there's an end.
[Exit.
Troil. O gods, how do you torture me!
I cannot come to Cressida but by him,
And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo,
As she is to be won.
Enter Æneas.
Æneas. How now, prince Troilus; why not in the battle?
Troil. Because not there. This woman's answer suits me,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Æn. Paris is hurt.
Troil. By whom?
Æn. By Menelaus. Hark what good sport[Alarm within.
Is out of town to-day! When I hear such music,
I cannot hold from dancing.