_Troil._ Is't possible! Then you are still my friend. _Hect._ Heaven knows I am! _Troil._ And can forgive the sallies of my passion? For I have been to blame, oh! much to blame; Have said such words, nay, done such actions too, (Base as I am!) that my awed conscious soul Sinks in my breast, nor dare I lift an eye On him I have offended. _Hect._ Peace be to thee, And calmness ever there. I blame thee not: I know thou lov'st; and what can love not do! I cast the wild disorderly account, Of all thy words and deeds, 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 running into his arms._