PANDARUS.
He is elder.
CRESSIDA.
Pardon me, pardon me.
PANDARUS.
Th’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when th’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year.
CRESSIDA.
He shall not need it if he have his own.
ANDARUS.
Nor his qualities.
CRESSIDA.
No matter.
PANDARUS.
Nor his beauty.
CRESSIDA.
’Twould not become him: his own’s better.
PANDARUS.
You have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that Troilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown neither—
CRESSIDA.
No, but brown.