and world of charge,
And you as well to keep her, that defend her,
Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleased to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.
You are too bitter to your countrywoman.
She's bitter to her country: hear me, Paris:
For every false drop in her bawdy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.
Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this virtue well,
We'll but commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way.
Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold.
Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses
As infants' empty of all thought!
Good morrow, then.
I prithee now, to bed.
Are you a-weary of me?
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.
Night hath been too brief.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.
Prithee, tarry:
You men will never tarry.
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark!
there's one up.
What, 's all the doors open here?
It is your uncle.
A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking:
I shall have such a life!
How now, how now! how go maidenheads? Here, you
maid! where's my cousin Cressid?
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
To do what? to do what? let her say
what: what have I brought you to do?
Come, come, beshrew your heart! you'll ne'er be good,
Nor suffer others.
Ha! ha! Alas, poor wretch!