Part 46

JULIET.

Art thou gone so? My love, my lord, my friend! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, For in a minute there are many days-- O by this count I shall be much in years, Ere I again behold my Romeo!

ROMEO.

Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

JULIET.

O! think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

ROMEO.

I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.

JULIET.

O God! I have an ill-divining soul: Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.

We have no sympathy with the pouting disappointment of Cressida, which is just like that of a spoilt child which has lost its sugar-plum, without tenderness, passions, or poetry: and, in short, perfectly characteristic of that vain, fickle, dissolute, heartless woman,--"unstable as water."

CRESSIDA.

And is it true that I must go from Troy?

TROILUS.

A hateful truth.

CRESSIDA.

What, and from Troilus too?

TROILUS.

From Troy and Troilus.

CRESSIDA.

Is it possible?

TROILUS.

And suddenly.

CRESSIDA.

I must then to the Greeks?

TROILUS.

No remedy.

CRESSIDA.