Hec. O, 'tis fair play. Troi. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. Hec. How now? how now? For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers; Troi. Hector, then 'tis wars. Hec. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; 3 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 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, Fall all together. Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back: 3 i. e. tears that continue to course one another down the face. Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had vi sions; Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself To tell thee that this day is ominous : Hec. Eneas is a-field; And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, This morning to them. Pri. Ay, but thou shalt not go. Hec. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, 1 Let me not shame respect; 1 but give me leave Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. And. Do not, dear father. Hec. Andromache, I am offended with you: Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit Andromache. Troi. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements. Cas. O farewell, dear Hector. Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale! Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! 1 i. e. disgrace the respect I owe you, by acting in op. position to your commands. Hark, how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out! And all cry-Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector! Troi. Away!-away! Cas. Farewell.-Yet, soft: Hector, I take my leave. Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. Hec. You are amazed, my liege, at her exclaim : Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee! [Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. Troi. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, believe, I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, PANDARUS. Pan. Do you hear, my Troi. What now ? lord? do you hear? Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl. Troi. Let me read. Pan. A whoreson phthisic, a whoreson rascally phthisic 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 ache in my bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on 't.-What says she there? Troi. Words, words, mere words; no matter from the heart: [tearing the letter. The effect doth operate another way: Go, wind, to wind; there turn and change together. [Exeunt severally. SCENE IV. Between Troy and the Grecian camp. Alarums. Excursions. 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 ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whoremasterly 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 proved worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel 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 to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.1 Soft! here comes sleeve, and t' other. Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following. Troi. Fly not; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after. Dio. Thou dost miscall retire: I do not fly; but advantageous care Have at thee! Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian!-now for thy whore, Trojan !-now the sleeve, now the sleeve! [Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. Enter HECTOR. Hec. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match? Art thou of blood and honor? Ther. No, no:-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. Hec. I do believe thee: live. [Exit. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think, 1 i. e. begin to set up the authority of ignorance, and to declare that they will be governed no longer by policy. |