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Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing:
That she belov'd knows nought that knows not this:
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is:
That she was never yet, that ever knew
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue.
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech:
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

Wm. Shakespeare

Fair Lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects:
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. Diomedes

Wm. Shakespeare

As his arms close around me, and I feel the length of his body molded to mine, a small moan escapes my lips.

How does he do this to me? I cling to him, grateful for the strength of him, for I can feel the weakness in my knees, the desire that dwells deep inside me burst into flame. Sheltered in his arms I give myself up to the thrumming of my body, the rapid beating of my heart.

Heedless of all, inflamed beyond all measure, I meet his lips with my own. The music is forgotten, the jewels are forgotten, there is only the covetous need for one another that we share. I know that I can ask him anything and if it is in his power, he will grant it. I deepen my kiss and thank the gods that it is so before I draw away to tell him what is in my heart.

Cressida of Troy

It is hopeless... I know that now. I am drawn, like moth to the flame. I am scarcely aware of my feet as I am pulled, unresisting, into the depth of Diomedes' eyes while he watches me cross the floor. I know not where time goes... there is only the impression of different people, Calchas... all a hazy backdrop of motion that has no meaning except to serve as an intrusion between my sweet Greek and me.

Captivated, bending to the inevitable, I dare to sit beside him. My hand touches the soft locks that curl at his neck, and my nostrils flare with the scent of him. I can feel the veins at my wrist pulse strongly, my skin ache for his touch. My head bows to find its rest on his shoulder, and I can feel his breath caress my shoulder...

Cressida of Troy

Pan Historian Bookmarked Blog

Music of Cressida from a dear and remarkable friend
Janet Smith, UCB, playing a replica of the Silver Lyre of Ur
Seven Modes for an Ancient Lyre

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Cressida of Troy

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