The obligation of our Blood forbids
A gory Emulation 'twixt us twain;

Were thy Commixion Greek and Trojan so,
That thou could'ft fay, this Hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan; the Sinews of this Leg
All Greek, and this all Troy: My Mother's Blood
Runs on the dexter Cheek, and this Sinifter
Bounds in my Father's: By Jove multipotent,
Thou should'ft not bear from me a Greekib Member
Wherein my Sword 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 Sword
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.

Hect. Not Neoptolemus fo mirable,

On whose bright Creft, Fame with her loud'ft O yes,
Cries, This is he, could promife to himself

A thought of added Honour torn from Hector.

Ane. There is expectance here from both the fides: What further you will do.

Hect. 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.

Dio. Tis Agamemnon's with, and great Achilles
Doth long to fee unarm'd the valiant Hector.
Helt. Aneas, call my Brother Troilus to me:
And fignifie this loving Interview

To the expectors of the Trojan part:

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

Aga

Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks co me forward. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Hect. The worthieft of them, tell me name by name; But for Achilles, mine own fearching Eyes Shall find him by his large and portly fize.

Aga. Worthy of Arms; as welcome as to one
That would be rid of fuch an Enemy.

But that's no welcome: Underftand more clear,
What's paft 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 moft divine Integrity,

From Heart of very Heart, great Hector, welcome.
Helt. I thank thee, moft Imperious Agamemnon. [To Troi.
Aga. My well fam'd Lord of Troy, no lefs to you.
Men. Let me confirm my Princely Brother's Greeting,
You brace of warlike Brothers, welcome hither.
Hect. Whom muft we answer?

Ane. The Noble Menelaus.

Hect. O----you my Lord----by Mars his Gauntlet thanks, Mock not, that I affect th' untraded Oath,

Your quendam 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 Destiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greekish Youth; and I have feen thee,
As hot as Perfeus, fpur thy Phrygian Steed,

And feen thee fcouring Forfeits and Subduements,
When thou haft hung thy advanc'd Sword i'th'Air,
Not letting it decline on the declined:
That I have faid unto my Standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder dealing Life.

And I have feen thee pause, and take thy Breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wreftling. Thus I have feen,
But this thy Countenance, ftill stock'd in Steel,
I never faw 'till now. I knew thy Grandfire,
And once fought with him; he was a Soldier good,

But

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.

Hect. 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 clafp thee.

Neft. I would my Arms could match thee in Contention, As they contend with thee in Courtefie.

Helt. I would they could.

Neft. Ha? by this white Beard I'd fight with thee to Morrow. Well, welcome, welcome; I have feen the time-Vlyf. I wonder now how yonder City ftands, When we have here the Bafe and Pillar by us. Helt. I know your favour, Lord Vlyffes, well. Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since firft I fay you felf and Diomede

In Ilion, on your Greekish Embaffe.

Vlyf. Sir, I foretold you then what would enfue.
My Prophefie is but half his Journey yet,

For yonder Walls that partly front your Town;
Yond Towers, whofe wanton tops do bufs the Clouds,
Muft kifs their own Feet.

Hect. I must not believe you:

There they ftand yet; and modeftly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian Stone will coft
A drop of Grecian Blood; the end crowns all,
And that old common Arbitrator, Time,
Will one Day end it.

Vlyf. So to him we leave it.

Moft gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I beseech you next

To feaft with me, and fee me at my Tent.
Achil. I fhall forestal thee, Lord Vlyffes, thou:
Now Hector, I have fed mine Eyes on thee,
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Hect. Is this Achilles?

Achil. I am Achilles.

Hect. Stand fair, I prithee, let me look on thee.
Achil. Behold thy fill.

He

Het. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief, I will the fecond time, As I would buy thee, view thee, limb by limb. Hect, O, like a Book of Sport thou'lt read me o'er: But there's more in me than thou underftand'ft. Why doft thou fo opprefs me with thine Eye?

Achil. Tell me, you Heav'ns, in which part of his Body Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there, That I may give the local Wound a name,

And make diftin&t the very breach, where-out
Hector's great Spirit flew. Anfwer me, Heav'ns.
Het. It would difcredit the bleft Gods, proud Man,
To answer fuch a Question: Stand again,
Think'ft thou to catch my Life fo pleafantly,
As to prenominate in nice Conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Hect. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me fo,
I'd not believe thee: Henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there,
But by the Forge that ftythied Mars his Helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea o'er and o'er.
You wifeft Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His Infolence draws folly from my Lips,
But I'll endeavour Deeds to match thefe Words,
Or may I never

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, Coufin;

And you, Achilles, let thefe Threats alone
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector?
you have Stomach. The general State, I fear,
Can fcarce intreat you to be odd with him.

If

Hed, I pray you, let us fee you in the Field, We have had pelting Wars fince you refus'd The Grecian's Caufe.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector?

To Morrow do I meet thee, fell as Death,
To Night, all Friends.

Hect. Thy Hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece go to my Tent, There in the full convive you; afterwards,

As

As Hector's Leifure, and your Bounties shall
Concur together, feverally intreat him.
Beat loud the Taborins, let the Trumpets blow;
That this great Soldier may his welcome know.
Manent Troilus and Ulyffes.

Troi. My Lord Vlyffes, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the Field doth Calchas keep?
Vlyf. At Menelaus Tent, moft Princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feaft with him to Night;
Who neither looks on Heav'n, nor on Earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Creffid.

[Exeunt.

Troi. Shall I, fweet Lord, be bound to thee fo much, After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,

To bring me thither?

Vlyf. You fhall command me, Sir:

As gently tell me, of what Honour was

This Creffida in Troy; had the no Lover there,
That wails her abfence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boafting fhew their Scars,
A mock is due: Will you walk on, my Lord?
She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth.

But ftill, sweet Love is Food for Fortune's tooth. [Exeunt

A CT. V. SCENE I.

SCENE before Achilles Tent in the Grecian

Camp.

Enter Achilles and Patroculus.

Achil. T'LL heat his Blood with Greekish Wine to Night, Patroclus, let us Feaft him to the height.

Pair. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites.

Achil. How now, thou core of Envy? Thou crufty batch of Nature, what's the News? Ther. Why, thou Picture of what thou seem'st, and Idol of Idiot-worshippers, here's a Letter for thee. Achil. From whence, Fragment?

Ther.