To every ticklish reader: fet them down

For fluttish Spoils of Opportunity,

And Daughters of the Game.

[Trumpet within.

Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and

Attendants.

All. The Trojans' trumpet!

Aga. Yonder comes the troop.

.

Ene. Hail all the State of Greece! what fhall be done To him that Victory commands? Or do you purpose, A Victor fhall be known? will you, the Knights

Shall to the edge of all extremity

Purfue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice, or order of the field?
Hector bad ask..

Aga. Which way would Hector have it?

Ene. He cares not; he'll obey conditions..

Achil. 'Tis done like Hector, but fecurely done, (38) A little proudly, and great deal mifprizing

The Knight oppos'd.

Ene. If not Achilles, Sir,

What is your name?

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing.

Ene. Therefore, Achilles; but whate'er, know this; In the extremity of great and little

Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;

The one almoft as infinite as all, ..

The other blank as nothing; weigh him well;
And That, which looks like pride, is courtefie.

(38) Agam. 'Tis done like Hector, but fecurely done ;] It feems abfurd to me, that Agamemnon should make a Remark to the Disparagement of Hector for Pride, and that Eneas fhould immediately fay, If notTM Achilles, Sir, what is your Name? and then defire him to take Notice, that Hector was as void of Pride as he was full of Valour. Why was Achilles to take Notice of this, if it was Agamemnon that threw this Imputation of Pride in Hector's Teeth? I was fully fatisfied, that this Reproach on Hector ought to be placed to Achilles, as I have ventur'd to place it; and confulting Mr. Dryden's Alteration of this Play, I was not a little pleas'd to find that I had but feconded the Opinion of that Great Man in this Point. I regulated the Paffage in the Appendix of my SHAKESPEAR B reftor'd; and Mr. Pope has follow'd my Regulation in his laft Edition of our Poet.

This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,
In love whereof, half Hector ftays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector, come to feek
This blended Knight, half Trojan and half Greek.
Achil. A maiden battel then? O, I perceive you.

Re-enter Diomede.

Aga. Here is Sir Diomede: go, gentle Knight, Stand by our Ajax; as you and lord Eneas Confent upon the order of the fight,

So be it; either to the uttermoft,

Or elfe a breath. The Combatants being kin
Half stints their ftrife before their ftrokes begin.
Uly. They are oppos'd already.

Aga. What Trojan is that fame, that looks so heavy? Uly. The youngest fon of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchlefs; firm of word; Speaking in deeds, and deedlefs in his tongue; Not foon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, foon calm'd; His heart and hand both open, and both free; For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he fhews; Yet gives he not, 'till judgment guide his bounty; Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath: Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; For Hector in his blaze of wrath fubfcribes To tender objects; but he in heat of action Is more vindicative than jealous love. They call him Troilus, and on him erect A fecond hope, as fairly built as Hector. Thus fays Eneas, one that knows the youth Ev'n to his inches; and with private foul, Did in great Ilion thus tranflate him to me.

1

[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight.

Aga. They are in action.

Neft. Now, Ajax, hold thine own.

Troi. Hector, thou sleep'st, awake thee.

Aga. His blows are well dispos'd; there, Ajax.

"Dio. You must no more.

Ene. Princes, enough, fo please you.

[Trumpets ceafe.

Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again.
Dio. As Hector pleases.

Helt. Why then, will I no more.

Thou art, great lord, my father's fifter's fon; (39)
A coufin-german to great Priam's seed:
The obligation of our blood forbids

A gory emulation 'twixt us twain;
Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan so,
That thou coud'ft fay, this hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan; the finews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this finifter
Bounds in my fire's: by Jove multipotent,
Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish member,
Wherein my fword had not impreffure made
Of our rank feud: But the juft Gods gainfay,
That any drop thou borrow'ft from thy mother,
My facred aunt, fhould by my mortal fword
Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
By him that thunders, thou haft lufty arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus-
Coufin, all honour to thee!

Ajax. I thank thee, Hector!

Thou art too gentle, and too free a man:
I came to kill thee, coufin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.

Heit. Not Neoptolemus so mirable,

(On whose bright creft, Fame, with her loud'ft O yes, Cries, this is he ;) could promise to himself

A thought of added honour torn from Hector.

Ene. There is expectance here from both the fides, What further you will do.

Hea. We'll answer it:

The iffue is embracement: Ajax, farewel
Ajax. If I might in entreaties find fuccefs,
(As feld I have the chance) I would defire
My famous coufin to our Grecian tents.

(39) Thou art, great lord, my Father's Sifter's San ;] For Ajax, as well as Teucer, was the Son of Hefione, who was the Daughter of Laomedon, and Sifter of Priam.

Dio. 'Tis Agamemon's wish, and great Achilles Doth long to fee unarm'd the valiant Hector. Het. Eneas, call my brother Troilus to me: And fignifie this loving interview

To the expectors of our Trojan part:

Defire them home. Give me thy hand, my Coufin: I will go eat with thee, and fee your Knights.

Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Heat. The worthieft of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, mine own fearching eyes

Shall find him by his large and portly size.

Aga. Worthy of arms! as welcome, as to one
That would be rid of fuch an enemy;

But that's no welcome: understand more clear,
What's past and what's to come is ftrew'd with husks
And formlefs ruin of Oblivion:

But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee with most divine integrity,

From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
Het. I thank thee, moft imperious Agamemnon.
Aga. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no lefs to you.
[To Troilus.
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's Greeting,
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
Hell. Whom muft we answer?

Ene. The noble Menelaus.

Hect. O-you, my lord-by Mars his gauntlet, thanks. Mock not, that I affect th' untraded oath;

Your quondam wife fwears ftill by Venus' glove:
She's well, but bad me not commend her to you.
Men. Name her not now, Sir, fhe's a deadly theme.
Helt. O, pardon—I offend.

Neft. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,
Labouring for deftiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greek fb youth; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perfeus, fpur thy Phrygian steed,

Bravely defpifing forfeits and fubduements,

When

D

When thou haft hung thy advanc'd sword i'th' air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd:
That I have faid unto my ftanders-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!

And I have seen thee paufe, and take thy breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This I've feen:
But this thy countenance, ftill lock'd in fteel,
I never faw 'till now. Iknew thy Grandfire,
And once fought with him; he was a foldier good;
But by great Mars, the Captain of us all,

Never like thee, Let an old man embrace thee,
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

Ene. 'Tis the old Neftor.

Heft. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That haft fo long walk'd hand in hand with time: 'Moft reverend Neftor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Neft. I would, my arms could match thee in contention,

As they contend with thee in courtefie.

Het. I would, they could.

Neft. By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to

morrow.

Well, welcome, welcome; I have seen the time-
Uly. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here the bafe and pillar by us.
Helt. I know your favour, lord Ulyffes, well.
Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I faw your felf and Diomede
In Ilion, on your Greekish embaffie.

Ulyf. Sir, I foretold you then what would enfue:
My prophefie is but half his journey yet;

For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whofe wanton tops do bufs the clouds,
Muft kifs their own feet.

Helt. I must not believe you:

There they ftand yet; and, modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian ftone will coft
A drop of Grecian blood; the end crowns all,

And