ULYSSES.
You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
You will break out.
TROILUS.
She strokes his cheek.
ULYSSES.
Come, come.
TROILUS.
Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience. Stay a little while.
THERSITES.
How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry!
DIOMEDES.
But will you, then?
CRESSIDA.
In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.
DIOMEDES.
Give me some token for the surety of it.
CRESSIDA.
I’ll fetch you one.
[Exit.]