beauty,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow, with the trumpet's call,
Mid-way between their tents and these our walls,
Maintain what I have said. If any come,
My sword shall honour him; if none shall dare,
Then shall I say, at my return to Troy,
The Grecian dames are sun-burnt, and not worth
The splinter of a lance.

_AEn._ It shall be told them,
As boldly as you gave it.

_Priam._ Heaven protect thee! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ CRESSIDA.

_Pand._ Yonder he stands, poor wretch! there stands he with such a
look, and such a face, and such begging eyes! there he stands, poor
prisoner!

_Cress._ What a deluge of words do you pour out, uncle, to say just
nothing?

_Pand._ Nothing, do you call it! is that nothing, do you call that
nothing? why he looks, for all the world, like one of your rascally
malefactors, just thrown off the gibbet, with his cap down, his arms
tied down, his feet sprunting, his body swinging. Nothing do you call
it? this is nothing, with a vengeance!

_Cress._ Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a
broken wing?

_Pand._ Why go to then, he cannot fly away then; then, that's certain,
that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen
him, when I said to him,--Take a good heart, man, and follow me; and
fear no colours, and speak your mind, man: she can never stand you;
she will fall, an' 'twere a leaf in autumn,--

_Cress._ Did you tell him all this, without my consent?

_Pand._ Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blabbed, they
leered, their very corners blabbed. But you'll say, your tongue said
nothing. No, I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was
better bred; your tongue kept its own counsel: nay, I'll say that for
you, your tongue said nothing.--Well, such a shamefaced couple did I
never see, days o'my life! so 'fraid of one another; such ado to bring
you to the business! Well, if this job were well over, if ever I lose
my pains again with an aukward couple, let me be painted in the
sign-post for the _labour in vain_: Fye upon't, fye upon't! there's no
conscience in't: all honest people will cry shame on't.

_Cress._ Where is this monster to be shown? what's to be given for a
sight of him?

_Pand._ Why, ready money, ready money; you carry it about you: give
and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as arrant a maid
as you are. I was