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! Enter Achilles, and his Myrmidons.

Achil.
Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:

^{8 note}Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

Hect.
^{9 note}

Achil.
^{1 note}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.
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,
^{2 note}