Thers. This Diomede's a false-hearted rogue, an unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he winks with one eye, than I will a serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers set it down for a prodigy: though I long to see Hector, I cannot forbear dogging him. They say he keeps a Trojan drab; and uses Calchas's tent, that fugitive priest of Troy, that canonical rogue of our side. I'll after him; nothing but whoring in this age; all incontinent rascals!
[Exit Thersites.
336 Enter Calchas and Cressida.
Calch. O, what a blessing is a virtuous child!
Thou has reclaimed my mind, and calmed my passions
Of anger and revenge; my love to Troy
Revives within me, and my lost tiara
No more disturbs my mind.
Cres. A virtuous conquest!
Calch. I have a woman's longing to return;
But yet which way, without your aid, I know not.
Cres. Time must instruct us how.
Calch. You must dissemble love to Diomede still:
False Diomede, bred in Ulysses' school,
Can never be deceived,
But by strong arts and blandishments of love.
Put them in practice all; seem lost and won,
And draw him on, and give him line again.
This Argus then may close his hundred eyes,
And leave our flight more easy.
Cres. How can I answer this to love and Troilus?
Calch. Why, 'tis for him you do it; promise largely;
That ring he saw you wear, he much suspects
Was given you by a lover; let him have it.
Diom. [Within.] Ho, Calchas, Calchas!