Part 39

Diom. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

Troy. Wert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn, It should be challeng’d.

Cre. Well, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not; I will not keep my word.

Diom. Why, then farewell; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

Cre. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word But it straight starts you.

Diom. I do not like this fooling.

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you Pleases me best.

Diom. What, shall I come? The hour-

Cre. Ay, come-O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.

Diom. Farewell till then.

Cre. Good night. I prithee come. Exit Diomedes Troylus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads must err; O, then conclude, Minds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude. Exit

Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish more, Unless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’

Vlyſ. All’s done, my lord.

Troy. It is.

Vlyſ. Why stay we, then?

Troy. To make a recordation to my soul Of every syllable that here was spoke. But if I tell how these two did coact, Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, An esperance so obstinately strong, That doth invert th’ attest of eyes and ears; As if those organs had deceptious functions Created only to calumniate. Was Creſſid here?

Vlyſ. I cannot conjure, Troian.

Troy. She was not, sure.

Vlyſ. Most sure she was.

Troy. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

Vlyſ. Nor mine, my lord. Creſſid was here but now.

Troy. Let it not be believ’d for womanhood. Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, For depravation, to square the general sex By Creſſid’s rule. Rather think this not Creſſid.

Vlyſ. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?

Troy. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

Ther. Will ’a swagger himself out on’s own eyes?

Troy. This she? No; this is Diomed’s Creſſida. If beauty have a soul, this is not she; If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, If sanctimony be the god’s delight, If there be rule in unity itself, This was not she. O madness of discourse, That cause sets up with and against itself! Bifold authority! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt: this is, and is not, Creſſid. Within my soul there doth conduce a fight Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Divides more wider than the sky and earth; And yet the spacious breadth of this division Admits no orifex for a point as subtle As Ariachne’s broken woof to enter. Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates: Creſſid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven. Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself: The bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d; And with another knot, five-finger-tied, The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics Of her o’er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

Vlyſ. May worthy Troylus be half-attach’d With that which here his passion doth express?

Troy. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well In characters as red as Mars his heart Inflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy With so eternal and so fix’d a soul. Hark, Greek: as much as I do Creſſid love, So much by weight hate I her Diomed. That sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm; Were it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constring’d in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear In his descent than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed.