_Troil._ Methinks, my soul is roused to her last work; Has much to do, and little time to spare. She starts within me, like a traveller, Who sluggishly outslept his morning hour, And mends his pace to reach his inn betimes. [_Noise within,_ Follow, follow! A noise of arms! the traitor may be there; Or else, perhaps, that conscious scene of love, The tent, may hold him; yet I dare not search, For oh, I fear to find him in that place. [_Exit_ TROILUS.
_Cres._ Where is he? I'll be justified, or die.
_Calch._ So quickly vanished! he was here but now. He must be gone to search for Diomede; For Diomede told me, here they were to fight.
_Calch._ You must prevent, and not complain.
_Cres._ If Troilus die, I have no share in life.
_Calch._ If Diomede sink beneath the sword of Troilus We lose not only a protector here, But are debarred all future means of flight.
_Calch._ To interpose betimes Betwixt their swords; or, if that cannot be, To intercede for him, who shall be vanquished. Fate leaves no middle course. [_Exit_ CALCHAS.
_Cres._ Ah me! I hear them, And fear 'tis past prevention.
_Enter_ DIOMEDE, _retiring before_ TROILUS, _and falling as he enters._
_Diom._ No; use thy fortune: I loath the life, which thou canst give, or take.
_Troil._ Scorn'st thou my mercy, villain!--Take thy wish.--
_Cres._ Hold, hold your hand, my lord, and hear me speak. [TROILUS _turns back; in which time_ DIOMEDE _rises, Trojans and Greeks enter, and rank themselves on both sides of their Captains._
_Troil._ Did I not hear the voice of perjured Cressida? Com'st thou to give the last stab to my heart? As if the proofs of all thy former falsehood Were not enough convincing, com'st thou now To beg my rival's life? Whom, oh, if any spark of truth remained, Thou couldst not thus, even to my face, prefer.
_Cres._ What shall I say!--that you suspect me false, Has struck me dumb! but let him live, my Troilus; By all our loves, by all our past endearments, I do adjure thee, spare him.
_Cres._ If ever I had power to bend your mind, Believe me still your faithful Cressida; And though my innocence appear like guilt, Because I make his forfeit life my suit, 'Tis but for this, that my return to you Would be cut off for ever by his death; My father, treated like a slave, and scorned; Myself in hated bonds a captive held.
