Diom. My lord, I am by Ajax sent to inform you,
This hour must end the truce.
Æn. to Troil. Contain yourself:
Think where we are.
Diom. Your stay will be unsafe.
Troil. It may, for those I hate.
Thers. [Aside.] Well said, Trojan: there's the first hit.
342 Diom. Beseech you, sir, make haste; my own affairs call me another way.
Thers. [Aside.] What affairs? what affairs? demand that, dolt-head! the rogue will lose a quarrel, for want of wit to ask that question.
Troil. May I enquire where your affairs conduct you?
Thers. [Aside.] Well said again; I beg thy pardon.
Diom. Oh, it concerns you not.