CRESSIDA.
No, I’ll be sworn.
ULYSSES.
It were no match, your nail against his horn.
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
CRESSIDA.
You may.
ULYSSES.
I do desire it.
CRESSIDA.
Why, beg then.
ULYSSES.
Why then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss
When Helen is a maid again, and his.
CRESSIDA.
I am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.
ULYSSES.
Never’s my day, and then a kiss of you.
DIOMEDES.
Lady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.
[Exit with Cressida.]