Hence, broker-lackey! ignomy and shame
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!

You understand me not that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence that gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone:
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd ...

He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger ...

Hector is slain.

Ajax hath ta'en AEneas: shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
He shall not carry him: I'll be ta'en too,
Or bring him off: fate, hear me what I say!
I reck not though I end my life to-day.

Come, both you cogging Greeks; have at you both!

O traitor Diomed! turn thy false face, thou traitor,
And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse!

Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.

Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart:
The effect doth operate another way.
Tearing the letter
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
My love with words and errors still she feeds;
But edifies another with her deeds.

Let me read.

What now?

They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.

Away! away!

This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
Makes all these bodements.

Who should withhold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears;
Not you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way,
But ...

Hector, then 'tis wars.

For the love of all the gods,
Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers,
And when we have our armours buckled on,
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth.

Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.

When many times the captive Grecian falls,
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise, and live.

Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
Which better fits a lion than a man.

Accept distracted thanks.

Have with you, prince. My courteous lord, adieu.
Farewell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head!

O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they'll seem glorious.

Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
In characters as red as Mars his heart
Inflamed 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 ...

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 gods' delight,
If there be rule in unity itself,
This is not she. O madness of discourse,
That cause sets up ...

Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

Let it not be believed 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.

Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

She was not, sure.

To make a recordation to my soul
Of every syllable that here was spoke.
But if I tell how these two did co-act,
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 the attest ...

It is.

Wert thou the devil, and worest it on thy horn,
It should be challenged.

I did swear patience.

I will be patient; outwardly I will.

O beauty! where is thy faith?

Fear me not, sweet lord;
I will not be myself, nor have cognition
Of what I feel: I am all patience.

Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience: stay a little while.

She strokes his cheek!

By Jove,
I will be patient.

Doth that grieve thee?
O wither'd truth!

I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments
I will not speak a word!

I pray thee, stay.

Behold, I pray you!

O plague and madness!

Thy better must.

Hold, patience!

What should she remember?

Yea, so familiar!

Cressid comes forth to him.

Sweet sir, you honour me.