Troil. I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round:
The imaginary relish is so sweet,
292 That it enchants my sense; what will it be,
When I shall taste that nectar?
It must be either death, or joy too fine
For the capacity of human powers.
I fear it much: and I do fear beside,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
As does a battle, when they charge on heaps
A flying enemy.
Re-enter Pandarus.
Pand. She's making her ready; she'll come strait: you must be witty now!—she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if she were frighted with a sprite; 'tis the prettiest villain! she fetches her breath so short, as 'twere a new-ta'en sparrow.
Troil. Just such a passion does heave up my breast!
My heart beats thicker than a feverish pulse:
I know not where I am, nor what I do;
Just like a slave, at unawares encountering
The eye of majesty.—Lead on, I'll follow.[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—The Camp.
Enter Nestor, and Ulysses.
Ulys. I have conceived an embryo in my brain:
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nest. What is't, Ulysses?
Ulys. The seeded pride,
That has to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropped,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like ill,
To overtop us all.
Nest. That's my opinion.