TROILUS.
A hateful truth.
CRESSIDA.
What! and from Troilus too?
TROILUS.
From Troy and Troilus.
CRESSIDA.
Is’t possible?
TROILUS.
And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now with a robber’s haste
Crams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
And scants us with a single famish’d kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
AENEAS.
[Within.] My lord, is the lady ready?
TROILUS.
Hark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius
Cries so to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
PANDARUS.
Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by my throat!
[Exit.]
CRESSIDA.
I must then to the Grecians?