Cres. Oh let me go, that I may know my grief; Grief is but guessed, while thou art standing by:  But I too soon shall know what absence is.

Troil. Why, ’tis to be no more; another name for death: 
’Tis the sun parting from the frozen north;
And I, methinks, stand on some icy cliff,
To watch the last low circles that he makes,
’Till he sink down from heaven!  O only Cressida,
If thou depart from me, I cannot live: 
I have not soul enough to last for grief,
But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me.

Cres. If I could live to hear it, I were false. 
But, as a careful traveller, who, fearing
Assaults of robbers, leaves his wealth behind,
I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks
Bear but an empty casket.

Troil. Then I will live, that I may keep that treasure;
And, armed with this assurance, let thee go,
Loose, yet secure as is the gentle hawk,
When, whistled off, she mounts into the wind. 
Our love’s like mountains high above the clouds;
Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet,
Their peaceful heads nor storm nor thunder know,
But scorn the threatening rack that rolls below. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

  ACHILLES and PATROCLUS standing in their tent.—­ULYSSES
  AGAMEMNON, MENELAUS, NESTOR, and AJAX, passing over the stage.

Ulys. Achilles stands i’ the entrance of his tent: 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and, princes all,
Look on him with neglectful eyes and scorn: 
Pride must be cured by pride.

Agam. We’ll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along;
So do each prince; either salute him not,
Or else disdainfully, which will shake him more
Than if not looked on.  I will lead the way.

Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me?  You know my mind; I’ll fight no more with Troy.

Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with us?

Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

Achil. No.

Nest. Nothing, my lord.

Agam. The better.

Menel. How do you, how do you?

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me!

Ajax. How now, Patroclus?

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax.

Ajax. Ha!

Achil. Good morrow.

Ajax. Ay; and good next day too.
                           [Exeunt all but ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.

Achil. What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles?

Patro. They pass by strangely; they were used to bow,
And send their smiles before them to Achilles;
To come as humbly as they used to creep
To holy altars.