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^{6 note}

Hect.
I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.

Achil.
Strike, fellows, strike^{7 note}

On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain^{9 note}


[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^{1 note} o'erspreads the earth,
And, stickler like^{2 note}

My half-supp'd sword^{3 note}