Hect. Remember well
What you have said; for, when I claim your promise,
I shall expect performance.
Troil. I am taught:
I will not rage.
Hect. Nor grieve beyond a man?
Troil. I will not be a woman.
Hect. Do not, brother:
And I will tell my news in terms so mild,
So tender, and so fearful to offend,
As mothers use to sooth their froward babes;
Nay, I will swear, as you have sworn to me,
That, if some gust of passion swell your soul
To words intemperate, I will bear with you.
Troil. What would this pomp of preparation mean?
Come you to bring me news of Priam's death,
Or Hecuba's?
Hect. The gods forbid I should!
But what I bring is nearer you, more close,
An ill more yours.
Troil. There is but one that can be.
Hect. Perhaps, 'tis that.
Troil. I'll not suspect my fate
So far; I know I stand possessed of that.