Troil. Fly, fly, thou torturest me.
Pand. Do I so, do I so? do I torture you indeed? well, I will go.
Troil. But yet thou dost not go.
Pand. I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought: yet you think a man never does enough for you; I have been labouring in your business 291 like any moyle. I was with prince Paris this morning, to make your excuse at night for not supping at court; and I found him—faith, how do you think I found him? it does my heart good to think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for you.
Troil. Will you go then?—What's this to Cressida?
Pand. Why, you will not hear a man! what's this to Cressida? Why, I found him a-bed, a-bed with Helena, by my troth: 'Tis a sweet queen, a sweet queen; a very sweet queen,—but she's nothing to my cousin Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsy, a tawny moor to my cousin Cressida; and she lay with one white arm underneath the whoreson's neck: Oh such a white, lilly-white, round, plump arm as it was—and you must know it was stripped up to the elbows; and she did so kiss him, and so huggle him!—as who should say—
Troil. But still thou stayest:—what's this to Cressida?
Pand. Why, I made your excuse to your brother Paris; that I think's to Cressida:—but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers! t'other hand was under the bed-cloaths; that I saw not, I confess; that hand I saw not.
Troil. Again thou torturest me.
Pand. Nay, I was tortured too; old as I am, I was tortured too: but for all that, I could make a shift, to make him, to make your excuse, to make your father—by Jove, when I think of that hand, I am so ravished, that I know not what I say: I was tortured too.
[Troilus turns away discontented.
Well, I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct her; not come quotha, and I her uncle!
[Exit Pandarus.