PANDARUS.
Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear?
TROILUS.
What now?
PANDARUS.
Here’s a letter come from yond poor girl.
TROILUS.
Let me read.
PANDARUS.
A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot tell what to think on’t. What says she there?
TROILUS.
Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;
Th’effect doth operate another way.
[Tearing the letter.]
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
My love with words and errors still she feeds,
But edifies another with her deeds.
[Exeunt severally.]