[Exit.]
CRESSIDA.
Will you walk in, my lord?
TROILUS.
O Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus!
CRESSIDA.
Wish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord!
TROILUS.
What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?
CRESSIDA.
More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
TROILUS.
Fears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly.
CRESSIDA.
Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse.
TROILUS.
O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is presented no monster.
CRESSIDA.
Nor nothing monstrous neither?