Nest._ Wherefore are you? He is not envious, as Achilles is.

_Ulys._ Know all the world, he is as valiant.

_Ajax._ A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us! Would a were a
Trojan!

_Ulys._ Thank heaven, my lord, you're of a gentle nature;
Praise him that got you, her that brought you forth;
But he, who taught you first the use of arms,
Let Mars divide eternity in two,
And give him half. I will not praise your wisdom,
Nestor shall do't; but, pardon, father Nestor,--
Were you as green as Ajax, and your brain
Tempered like his, you never should excel him,
But be as Ajax is.

_Ajax._ Shall I call you father?

_Ulys._ Ay, my good son.

_Diom._ Be ruled by him, lord Ajax.

_Ulys._ There is no staying here; the hart Achilles
Keeps thicket;--please it our great general,
I shall impart a counsel, which, observed,
May cure the madman's pride.

_Agam._ In my own tent our talk will be more private.

_Ulys._ But nothing without Ajax;
He is the soul and substance of my counsels,
And I am but his shadow.

_Ajax._ You shall see
I am not like Achilles.
Let us confer, and I'll give counsel too. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ PANDARUS, TROILUS, _and_ CRESSIDA.

_Pand._ Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby; swear the
oaths now to her, that you swore to me: What, are you gone again? you
must be watched ere you are made tame, must you? Why don't you speak
to her first?--Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture;
alas-a-day, how loth you are to offend day-light! [_They kiss._]
That's well, that's well; nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I
part you. So so--so so--

_Troil._ You have bereft me of all words, fair Cressida.

_Pand._ Words pay no debts; give her deeds.--What billing again!
Here's, in witness whereof the parties interchangeably--come in, come
in, you lose time both.

_Troil._ O Cressida, how often have I wished me here!

_Cres._ Wished, my lord!--The gods grant!--O, my lord--

_Troil._ What should they grant? what makes this pretty interruption
in thy words?

_Cres._ I speak I know not what!

_Troil._ Speak ever so; and if I answer you
I know not what--it shows the more of love.
Love is a child that talks in broken language,
Yet then he speaks most plain.

_Cres._ I find it true, that to be wise, and love,
Are inconsistent things.

_Pand._ What, blushing still! have you not done talking yet?

_Cres._ Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I ded