Hector, where's Hector? I will none but Hector. [Exit. Re-enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus, thou' coward Troilus, fhew thy head! Re-enter Diomedes. Dio. Troilus, I fay, where's Troilus? Dio. I would correct him. Ajax. Were I the general, thou fhouldft have my office, Ere that correction: Troilus, I fay, what! Troilus? Enter Troilus. Troi. Oh, traitor Diomede! turn thy falfe 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. Troi. Come both, you cogging Greeks, have at you both. [Exeunt, fighting. Enter Hector. Hect. Yea, Troilus? O well fought! my youngest brother.. Enter Achilles. Achil. Now do I fee thee; have at thee, Hector. Achil. I do difdain thy courtefy, proud Trojan, Be happy that my arms are out of ufe, Hect. Fare thee well; I would have been much more a fresher man, Enter Troilus. Troi. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; fhall it be? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heav'n, [Fight He He shall not carry him: I'll be taken too, Enter one in armour. [Exit. Hect. Stand, ftand, thou Greek, thou art a goodly mark: No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well, I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all, But I'll be mafter of it; wilt thou not, beast, abide ? Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. Enter Achilles with Myrmidons. [Exit. Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons. Enter Therfites, Menelaus and Paris. Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it : now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now my doublehen'd fparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game; 'ware horns, ho. [Exe. Paris and Menelaus. Enter Baftard. Baft. Turn, flave, and fight, Ther. What art thou? Baft. A baftard fon of Priam's. Ther. I am a baftard too, I love baftards. I am a baftard begot, baftard inftructed, baftard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one bear will not bite another, and wherefore should 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. Bost Baft. The devil take thee, coward. Enter Hector. [Exeunt, I G Het. Moft putrified core, fo fair without! Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath : Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the fun begins to fet; [They fall upon Hector, and kill him. Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my Lord. And, ftickler-like, the armies feparates. My half-fupt fword, that frankly would have fed, Along the field I will the Trajan trail. [Exeunt. [Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomedes, and the rest 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. Aga. Aga. March haftily along; let one be sent To pray Achilles fee us at our tent. If in his death the Gods have us befriended, Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [Exe. Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus. Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field; Never go home, here ftarve we out the night. Troi. He's dead, and at the murderer's horfe's tail Ene. My Lord, you do discomfort all the hoft. Let him, that will a fcrietch-owl ay be call'd, Let Titan rife as early as he dare, I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd coward! No fpace of earth fhall funder our two hates ; Enter Enter Pandarus. Pan. But hear you, hear you? Troi. Hence, brothel-lacquey; ignominy, fhame [Strikes him. Purfue thy life, and live ay with thy name! [Exeunt. Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aking bones! Oh world! world! world! thus is the poor agent defpis'd: Oh, traitors and bawds, how carneftly are you fet at work, and how ill requited? why should our endeavour be fo lov'd, and the performance fo loath'd? what verse for it? what inftance for it ? -let me feeFull merrily the humble-bee doth fing, "Till he hath loft his honey and his fting; But being once fubdu'd in armed tail, Sweet honey and fweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths- Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; Some two months hence my will shall here be made : Till then, I'll fweat, and feek about for eases; [Exit. The End of the Seventh Volume. |