Page 2897 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

You look upon that sleeve; behold it well. [70]
He loved me − O false wench! Give’t me again.
She snatches the sleeve.

DIOMEDES
Whose was’t?

CRESSIDA
It is no matter, now I have’t again.

I will not meet with you tomorrow night;
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. [75]

THERSITES
Now she sharpens − well said, whetstone!

DIOMEDES
I shall have it.

CRESSIDA
What, this?

DIOMEDES
Ay, that.

CRESSIDA

O all you gods! − O pretty, pretty pledge! [80]
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it
As I kiss thee −

Diomedes takes the sleeve.
Nay, do not snatch it from me;
He that takes that doth take my heart withal. [85]

DIOMEDES
I had your heart before; this follows it.