Part 27

Troy. Ha! ha!

Cre. Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing. [Knock] How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: I would not for half Troy have you seen here. Exeunt Troylus and Creſſid

Pan. Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? What’s the matter?

Enter Æneas

Æne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.

Pan. Who’s there? My lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not. What news with you so early?

Æne. Is not Prince Troylus here?

Pan. Here! What should he do here?

Æne. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?

Æne. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.

Re-enter Troylus

Troy. How now! What’s the matter?

Æne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes’ hand The Lady Creſſida.

Troy. Is it so concluded?

Æne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy. They are at hand and ready to effect it.

Troy. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here.

Æne. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity. Exeunt Troylus and Æneas

Pan. Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke’s neck.

Re-enter Creſſid

Cre. How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?

Pan. Ah, ah!

Cre. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what’s the matter?

Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

Cre. O the gods! What’s the matter?

Pan. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!

Cre. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troylus. ’Twill be his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.