s, on that mad passion:
I pity thee, indeed I pity thee.

_Troil._ Do, for I need it: Let me lean my head
Upon thy bosom, all my peace dwells there;
Thou art some god, or much, much more than man!

_Hect._ Alas, to lose the joys of all thy youth,
One who deserved thy love!

_Troil._ Did she deserve?

_Hect._ She did.

_Troil._ Then sure she was no common creature?

_Hect._ I said it in my rage; I thought not so.

_Troil._ That thought has blessed me! But to lose this love,
After long pains, and after short possession!

_Hect._ I feel it for thee: Let me go to Priam,
I'll break this treaty off; or let me fight:
I'll be thy champion, and secure both her,
And thee, and Troy.

_Troil._ It must not be, my brother;
For then your error would be more than mine:
I'll bring her forth, and you shall bear her hence;
That you have pitied me is my reward.

_Hect._ Go, then; and the good gods restore her to thee,
And, with her, all the quiet of thy mind!
The triumph of this kindness be thy own;
And heaven and earth this testimony yield,
That friendship never gained a nobler field. [_Exeunt severally._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ CRESSIDA _meeting._

_Pand._ Is't possible? no sooner got but lost?
The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad:
A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke his neck!

_Cres._ How now? what's the matter? Who was here?

_Pand._ Oh, oh!

_Cres._ Why sigh you so? O, where's my Troilus?
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

_Pand._ Would I were as deep under the earth, as
I am above it!

_Cres._ O, the gods! What's the matter?

_Pand._ Pr'ythee get thee in; would thou hadst never been born!
I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh, poor gentleman!
A plague upon Antenor!

_Cres._ Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what's the
matter?

_Pand._ Thou must be gone, girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive
rogue-priest, thy father: (and he's my brother too; but that's all one
at this time:) A pox upon Antenor!

_Cres._ O, ye immortal gods! I will not go.

_Pand._ Thou must, thou must.

_Cres._ I will not: I have quite forgot my father.
I have no touch of birth, no spark of nature,
No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me,
As my dear Troilus!

_Enter_ TROILUS.

_Pand._ Here, here, here he comes, sweet duck!

_Cres._ O, Troilus, Troilus! [_They both weep over each other;
she runnin