ick up all my blood,
And, in a moment, turn my heart to ashes.

_Hect._ That Cressida for Antenor is exchanged,
Because I knew 'twas harsh, I would not tell;
Not all at once; but by degrees and glimpses
I let it in, lest it might rush upon you,
And quite o'erpower your soul: In this, I think,
I showed a friend: your part must follow next;
Which is, to curb your choler, tame your grief,
And bear it like a man.

_Troil._ I think I do,
That I yet live to hear you. But no more;
Hope for no more; for, should some goddess offer
To give herself and all her heaven in change,
I would not part with Cressida: So return
This answer as my last.

_Hect._ 'Twill not be taken:
Nor will I bear such news.

_Troil._ You bore me worse.

_Hect._ Worse for yourself; not for the general state,
And all our common safety, which depends
On freed Antenor's wisdom.

_Troil._ You would say,
That I'm the man marked out to be unhappy,
And made the public sacrifice for Troy.

_Hect._ I would say so indeed; for, can you find
A fate more glorious than to be that victim?
If parting from a mistress can procure
A nation's happiness, show me that prince
Who dares to trust his future fame so far,
To stand the shock of annals, blotted thus,--
He sold his country for a woman's love!

_Troil._ O, she's my life, my being, and my soul!

_Hect._ Suppose she were,--which yet I will not grant,--
You ought to give her up.

_Troil._ For whom?

_Hect._ The public.

_Troil._ And what are they, that I should give up her,
To make them happy? Let me tell you, brother,
The public is the lees of vulgar slaves;
Slaves, with the minds of slaves; so born, so bred.
Yet such as these, united in a herd,
Are called, the public! Millions of such cyphers
Make up the public sum. An eagle's life
Is worth a world of crows. Are princes made
For such as these; who, were one soul extracted
From all their beings, could not raise a man?--

_Hect._ And what are we, but for such men as these?
'Tis adoration, some say, makes a god:
And who should pay it, where would be their altars,
Were no inferior creatures here on earth?
Even those, who serve, have their expectancies,
Degrees of happiness, which they must share,
Or they'll refuse to serve us.

_Troil._ Let them have it;
Let them eat, drink, and sleep; the only use
They have of life.

_Hect._ You take all these away,
Unless you give up Cressida.

_Troil._ Forbear:
Let Paris give up Helen; she's the cause