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But I'll be master of it:-Wilt thou not, beast,

abide? Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.



The same.

Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; Mark what I say.-Attend me where I wheel: Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about; In fellest manner execute your arms.3 Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye:It is decreed-Hector the great must die. [Exeunt.


The same.

Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting : then

THERSITES. Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-henned sparrow! 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The bull has the game:-'ware horns, ho!

[Exeunt Paris and MenELAUS.


execute your arms.] To execute their arms is to employ them; to put them to use.

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight.
Ther. What art thou?
Mar, A bastard son of Priam's.

Ther. I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard 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 most ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: Farewell, bastard.

Mar. The devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt.


Another Part of the Field.


Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!

[Puts off his Helmet, and hangs his Shield

behind him.

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the vail and dark’ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

Hect. I am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.

[Hector falls. So, Ilion, fall thou next; now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.

On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.

[A Retreat sounded. Hark! a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my

lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the

earth, And, stickler like,4 the armies separates. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have ted, Pleas’d with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.

Sheaths his sword. Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.


The same.

Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, Menelaus, Nestor,
DIOMEDES, and Others, marching. Shouts within.
Agam. Hark! hark! what shout is that?

Peace, drums. [Within.]

Achilles ! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles !

Dio. The bruit is—Hector's slain, and by Achilles.

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; Great Hector was as good a man as he.

Agam. March patiently along:-Let one be sent To pray

Achilles see us at our tent.

* And, stickler-like,] Sticklers are arbitrators, judges, or, as called in some places, sidesmen. At every wrestling in Cornwall, before the games begin, a certain number of sticklers are chosen, who regulate the proceedings, and determine every dispute. Stickler (stic-kle-er ) is immediately from the verb stickle, to interfere, to take part with, to busy one's self in any matter.

If in his death the gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.

[Exeunt, marching.


Another Part of the Field.

Enter Æneas and Trojans. Æne. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field: Never

go home; here starve we out the night.


Tro. Hector is slain.

Hector:--The gods forbid!
Tro. He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
In beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.-
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, ,
And linger not our sure destructions on!

Æne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.

Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death;
But dare all imminence, that gods and men,
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be callid,
Go in to Troy, and say there-Hector's dead:
There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away:
Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
Stay yet ;--You vile abominable tents,

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