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Neft. Go bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,
That what he will, he does; and does fo much,
Ulyf. Oh, courage, courage, Princes; great Achillas Is arming, weeping, curfing, vowing vengeance; Patroclus wounds have rowz'd his drowfie blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
come to him,
That nofelefs, handlefs, hackt and chipt,
Engaging and redeeming of himself,
With fuch a carelefs force, and forceless care,
Bad him win all.
Achil. Where is this Hector ?
Come, come, thou boy-killer, fhew me thy face:
Know, what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector, where's Hector? I will none but Hector. [Exit.
Re enter Ajax.
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, fhew thy head!
Dio. Troilus, I fay, where's Troilus?
Ajax. What wouldst thou?
Dio. I would correct him.
Ajax. Were I the General, thou shouldst have my
Ere that correction: Troilus, I fay, what! Troilus?
Troi. Oh, traitor Diomede! turn thy false face, thou traitor,
And pay thy life, thou oweft me for my horse.
Dio. Ha, art thou there?
Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: ftand, Diomede.
Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon.
Troi. Come both, you cogging Greeks, have at you both.
Heat. Yea, Troilus? O well fought! my younges brother.
Achil. Now do I fee thee; have at thee, Hector.
Achil. I do difdain thy courtefie, proud Trojan.
Be happy that my arms are out of use,
Hect. Fare thee well;
I would have been much more a fresher man,
Troi. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; fhall it be? No, by the flame of ycnder glorious heav'n,
He fhall not carry him: I'll be taken too,
Enter One in armour.
Heat. Stand, ftand, thou Greek, thou art a goodly mark:
No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well,
But I'll be mafter of it; wilt thou not, beat, abide?.
Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.
Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons. Mark what I fay, attend me where I wheel; Strike not a stroke, but keep your felves in breath ; And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about: In felleft manner execute your arms. Follow me, Sirs, and my Proceeding eye, It is decreed- Hector the great muft die. [Exeunt.
Enter Therfites, Menelaus and Paris.
Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold maker are at it now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now my double hen'd fparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game: 'ware horns, ho.
Baft. Turn, flave, and fight..
[Ex. Paris and Menelaus,
Baft. A baftard son of Priam's.
Ther. I am a baftard too, I love baftards. I am a baftard begot, baftard inftructed, bastard in mind, baftard in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one Bear will not bite another, and wherefore fhould one bastard? take heed, the quarrel's moft ominous to us: If the fon of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: farewel, baftard.
Baft. The devil take thee, coward.
Het. Moft putrified core, fo fair without !Thy goodly armour thus hath coft thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath :
Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons.
Achil. Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to fet;
[They fall upon Hector, and kill him: Hect. I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, trike, this is the man I feek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, fink down :
Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.
Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my lord. Achil. The dragon wings of night o'erfpreads the earth;
And, ftickler-like, the armies feparates.
My half fupt fword, that frankly would have fed,
Come, tye his body to my horse's tail :
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.
[Sound retreat. Shout.
Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomede,
and the reft marching.
Aga. Hark, hark, what fhout is that?
Neft. Peace, drums.
Sol. Achilles! Achilles! Hector's flain! Achilles!
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
March haftily along; let one be sent
To pay Achilles fee us at our Tent.
Jin his death the Gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [Exe. Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field; Never go home, here starve we out the night.
Troi. Hector is flain.
the Gods forbid ?
Troi. He's dead, and at the murtherer's horfe's tail
Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the Hoft.
Who fhall tell Priam fo? or Hecuba ?
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains ;
I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd
No space of earth fhall funder our two hates;
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth Goblins fwift as Frenzy's thoughts.