Hect. No, 'faith young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth; I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry: 370 Let grow thy sinews 'till their knots be strong, Troi. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion, than a man. Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me for it. Troi. When many times the captive Grecians fall, Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise, and live, Hect. O, 'tis fair play. Troi. Fool's play by heaven, Hector. Heft. How now? how now ? 389 Troi. For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother; Troi. Hector, then 'tis wars. Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. Troi. Who should withhold me? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; Their eyes o'er-galled with recourse of tears; 391 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin. Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM. Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Priam. Come, Hector, come, go back: 400 Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, To tell thee-that this day is ominous : Therefore, come back. Helt. Æneas is a-field; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the face of valour, to appear This morning to them. Priam. But thou shalt not go. Hect. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, And. Do not, dear father. Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you. Upon the love you bear me, get you in. ; 410 420 [Exit ANDROMACHE. Troi. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements. Cas. O farewel, dear Hector! Look, how thou dy'st! look, how thy eye turns pale ! Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! leave: -Away! 430 Yet soft :-Hector, I take my Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. lieve, I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. Enter PANDARUS. Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? Pan. Here's a letter come from yon' poor girl. 441 Pan. Pan. A whoreson phthisick, a whoreson rascally phthisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl; and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o' these days: And I have a rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ach in my bones, that, unless a man were curst, I cannot tell what to think on't.-What says she there? 453 Troi. Words, words, mere words, no matter from [Tearing the Letter. the heart; The effect doth operate another way.— Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to gether. My love with words and errors still she feeds; But edifies another with her deeds. Pan. Why, but hear you Troi. Hence, broker lacquey!—ignomy and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! 461 [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Between Troy and the Camp. [Alarum.] Enter THERSITES. Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy, there, in his helm: I would fain see them meet; that that same young Trojan Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab; of a sleeveless errand. O' the other side, The policy of those crafty swearing rascals,-that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses,is not prov'd worth a black-berry :-They set me up, in policy, that mungrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. here comes sleeve, and t'other. Enter DIOMED, and TROILUS. Soft! Troi. Fly not; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after. Dio. Thou dost mis-call retire: I do not fly; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: Have at thee! 481 [They go off fighting. Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian !-now for thy whore, Trojan !—now the sleeve, now the sleeve ! Enter HECTOR. Hect. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match? Art thou of blood, and honour? Ther. No, no:--I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. 491 |