Enter Achilles.

Achil. Now do I fee thee; ''now have at thee,` Hector.

Helt. Paufe, if thou wilt.

[Fight.

Achil. I do difdain thy courtefie, proud Trojan.

Be happy that my arms are out of use,

My rett and negligence befriend thee now,
But thou anon fhalt hear of me again:

[Exit.

'Till when, go feek thy fortune.

Het. Fare thee well;

I would have been much more a fresher man,

Had I expected thee.

How now, my brother?

Enter Troilus.

Troi. Ajax hath ta'en Eneas;. fhall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heav'n,
He fhall not carry him: I'll be taken too,
Or bring him off: Fate, hear me what I fay;
I reck not, though thou end my life to day.

Enter One in armour.

[Exit.

Helt. 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, beaft, abide?

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

Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.

Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons.
Mark what I fay, attend me where I wheel;
Strike not a stroke, but keep your felves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about:
In felleft manner execute your arms.
Follow me, Sirs, and my proceeding eye :
It is decreed-Hector the great muft die.

I have at thee,

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

Enter Therfites, Menelaus and Paris.

Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it: now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now my double-hen'd fparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game: 'ware horns, ho. [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. Enter Bastard.

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, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one bear will not bite another, and wherefore fhould one baftard? take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: If the fon of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: farewel, baftard.

Baft. The devil take thee, coward!

SCENE XIV.

Enter Hector.

[Exeunt.

Het. Moft putrified core, fo fair without!
Thy goodly armour thus hath coft thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath:
Reft, fword, thou haft thy fill of blood and death.

Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Achil. Look, Hector, how the fun begins to fet;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:
Ev'n with the veil and darkning of the fun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
Het. I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.

Achil. Strike, fellows, ftrike, this is the man I feek. a
[They fall upon Hector, and kill him.

So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, fink down:
Here lyes thy heart, thy finews and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
Achilles bath the mighty Hector flain.

Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.

Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my Lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erfpeads the earth, And, ftickler-like, the armies separates;

Come, tye his body to my horse's tail:

Along the field I will the Trojan trail.

[Exeunt.

[Sound retreat. Shout.

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomede,

and the reft, marching.

Aga. Hark, hark, what shout is that?
Neft. Peace, drums.

Sol. Achilles! Achilles! Hector's flain! Achilles!

Dio. The bruit is, Hector's flain, and by Achilles.
Ajax. If it is fo, yet braglefs let it be:

Great Hector was as good a man as he.

Aga. March patiently 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. [Exeunt.

Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.

Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we mafters of the field, Never go home, here starve we out the night.

(a) This particular of Achilles overpowering Hector by numbers, is taken from the old Story-book.

(b) the armies feparates;

My half-fupt fword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.

Come, tye .

Troi. He's dead, and at the murtherer's horfe's tail
In beaftly fort dragg'd through the fhameful field.
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with fpeed;
Sit, Gods, upon your thrones, and finite all Troy
I fay at once; let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our fure deftructions on!

Ene. My Lord, you do difcomfort all the hoft.
Troi. You understand me not, that tell me fo:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence, that Gods and men
Addrefs their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who fhall tell Priam fo? or Hecuba?

Let him that will a fcrietch-owl aye be call'd,
Go in to Troy, and fay there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to ftone;
Make wells and 3 'rivers of the maids and wives;
Cold ftatues of the youth; and in a word,
Scare Troy out of it felf. But march away,
Hector is dead: there is no more to say.
Stay yet, you vile abominable tents,

Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains:
Let Titan rife as early as he dare,

[coward!

I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd
No space of earth fhall funder our two hates,
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked confcience ftill,
That mouldeth goblins fwift as frenfy's thoughts.
Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge fhall hide our inward woe.

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. But hear you, hear you.

Troi. Hence, brothel-lacquy; ignominy, fhame

[Strikes bim. Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name! [Exeunt. Pan. A goodly med'cine for mine aking bones! Oh world! world! world! thus is the poor agent defpis'd: Oh, traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you fet at

2 fmile at ... old edit. Warb. emend.

3 Niobe's

work,

work, and how ill requited! why fhould our endeavour be fo lov'd, and the performance fo loath'd? what verse for it? what inftance for it?-let me fee

Full 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, fet this in your painted cloths-
As many as be here of Pandar's hall,

Your eyes half out weep out at Pandar's fall;
Or if you cannot weep, yet give fome groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aking bones.
Brethren and fifters of the hold-door trade,

Some two months hence my will fhall here be made:
It fhould be now; but that my fear is this,
a Some galled goofe of Winchester would hifs;
'Till then, I'll fweat, and feck about for eases,
And at that time bequeath you my diseases.

[Exit.

(a) The publick flows were anciently under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester.

Pope.

CYMBELINE.