From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious! Agamemnon. Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. [To Troilus. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting;You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. Hect. Whom must we answer? Men. The noble Menelaus. Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Mock not, that I affect the untraded2 oath; Hect. O, pardon; I offend. Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, (1) Imperial. (2) Singular, not common. (3) Heretofore. (4) Fallen. (5) Laomedon. Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time :Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in As they contend with thee in courtesy. Nest. Ha! By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : Hect. I must not believe you: There they stand yet; and modestly I think, The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, time, Will one day end it. Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome: After the general, I beseech you next To feast with me, and see me at my tent. Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou!Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted1 joint by joint. Hect. Achil. I am Achilles. Is this Achilles? Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. (1) Observed. Achil. Behold thy fill. Shall I destroy him; whether there, there, or there? man, To answer such a question: Stand again: Achil. I tell thee, yea. Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that stithied2 Mars his helm, I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ;And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't: You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach ;3 the general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field; We have had pelting4 wars, since you refus'd (1) Forename. (3) Inclination. (2) Stithy is a smith's shop. VOL. VI. The Grecians' cause. Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; Hect. Thy hand upon that match. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convivel we: afterwards, Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, After we part from Agamemnon's tent, To bring me thither? Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there That wails her absence? Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth : But still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt (1) Feast, (2) Small drums. ACT V. SCENE I.—The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. Achil. Enter Thersites. How now, thou core of envy? Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. Achil. From whence, fragment? Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Patr. Who keeps the tent now? Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well said, Adversity!! and what need these tricks? Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that? Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i'the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries! Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? Ther. Do I curse thee? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no. (1) Contrariety. |