SCENE 2. Troy. The court of PANDARUS' house
[Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA.]
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 aweary of me?
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd 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.
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.