CRESSIDA.
It is no matter.
DIOMEDES.
Come, tell me whose it was.
CRESSIDA.
’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.
But, now you have it, take it.
DIOMEDES.
Whose was it?
CRESSIDA.
By all Diana’s waiting women yond,
And by herself, I will not tell you whose.
DIOMEDES.
Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm,
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
TROILUS.
Wert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,
It should be challeng’d.
CRESSIDA.
Well, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;
I will not keep my word.
DIOMEDES.
Why, then farewell;
Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.
CRESSIDA.
You shall not go. One cannot speak a word
But it straight starts you.