SCENE IV.
The Field between Troy and the Camp.
Alarum. Enter Thersites.
Ther.
Now they are clapper-clawing one another, I'll go
look on: That dissembling abominable Varlet, Diomede,
has got that same scurvy, doating, foolish young Knave's
Sleeve of Troy, there in his Helm: I would fain see them
meet, that, that same young Trojan Ass, that loves the
Whore there, might send that Greekish Whore-masterly
Villain, with the Sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious
-- 1897 --
Drab, of a sleeveless Errant. O'th' t'other side, the Policy
of those crafty swearing Rascals, that stale old Mouse-eaten
dry Cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox Ulysses is not
prov'd worth a Blackberry. They set me up in Policy that
mungril Cur Ajax, against that Dog of as bad a kind, Achilles.
And now is the Cur Ajax prouder than the Cur Achilles,
and will not arm to Day. Whereupon the Grecians
began to proclaim Barbarism, and Policy grows into an ill
Opinion.
Enter Diomede and Troilus.
Soft—here comes Sleeve, and t' other.
Troi.
Fly not; for should'st thou take the River Styx, I
would swim after.
Dio.
Thou dost miscall Retire:
I do not fly, but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of Multitude:
Have at thee.
[They go off fighting.
Ther.
Hold thy Whore, Grecian: Now for thy Whore,
Trojan: Now the Sleeve, now the Sleeve.
Enter Hector.
Hect.
What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match?
Art thou of Blood and Honour?
Ther.
No, no: I am a Rascal; a scurvy railing Knave; a
very filthy Rogue.
Hect.
I do believe thee—live.
[Exit.
Ther.
God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a
plague break thy Neck—for frighting me; what's become
of the wenching Rogues? I think, they have swallowed
one another. I would laugh at that Miracle—yet
in a sort, Letchery eats it self: I'll seek them.
[Exit.
Enter Diomede and Servant.
Dio.
Go, go, my Servant, take thou Troilus's Horse,
Present the fair Steed to my Lady Cressid:
Fellow, commend my Service to her Beauty:
Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan,
And am her Knight by proof.
Ser.
I go, my Lord.
Enter Agamemnon.
Aga.
Renew, renew, the fierce Polydamus
Hath beat down Menon: Bastard Margarelon
-- 1898 --
Hath Doreus Prisoner,
And stands, Colossus wise, waving his Beam,
Upon the pashed coarses of the Kings,
Epistropus and Cedus: Polyxines is slain;
Amphimachus and Thous deadly hurt;
Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruised; the dreadful Sagittary
Appals our Numbers, haste we, Diomede,
To Reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter Nestor.
Nest.
Go bear Patroclus's Body to Achilles,
And bid the Snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame,
There are a thousand Hectors in the Field:
Now here he fights on Galathe his Horse,
And there lacks work; anon he's there a-foot,
And there they fly or dye, like scaled Sculls,
Before the belching Whale: Then is he yonder,
And there the straying Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him, like the Mower's Swath;
Here, there, and every where, he leaves and takes;
Dexterity so obeying Appetite,
That what he will, he does, and does so much,
That Proof is call'd Impossibility.
Enter Ulysses.
Ulys.
Oh, Courage, Courage, Princes; great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing Vengeance;
Patroclus's Wounds have rouz'd his drowsie Blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hackt and chipt, come to him,
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a Friend,
And foams at Mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it,
Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to Day
Mad and fantastick Execution,
Engaging and redeeming of himself,
With such a careless Force, and forceless Care,
As if that Luck, in very spight of Cunning, bad him win all.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax.
Troilus, thou Coward, Troilus.
[Exit.
Dio.
Ay, there, there.
Nest.
So, so, we draw together.
[Exeunt.
-- 1899 --
Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Where is this Hector?
Come, come, thou Boy-killer, shew thy Face:
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector, where's Hector? I will none but Hector.
[Exit.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax.
Troilus, thou Coward Troilus, shew thy Head.
Enter Diomede.
Dio.
Troilus, I say, where's Troilus?
Ajax.
What would'st thou?
Dio.
I would correct him.
Ajax.
Were I the General,
Thou should'st have my Office,
E'er that Correction: Troilus, I say, what, Troilus?
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Oh Traitor Diomede!
Turn thy false Face, thou Traitor,
And pay thy Life, thou owest me for my Horse.
Dio.
Ha, art thou there?
Ajax.
I'll fight with him alone, stand, Diomede.
Dio.
He is my prize, I will not look upon.
Troi.
Come, both you cogging Greeks, have at you both.
[Exeunt fighting.
Enter Hector.
Hect.
Yea, Troilus? O well fought, my youngest Brother.
Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Now do I see thee; have at thee, Hector.
Hect.
Pause, if thou wilt.
[Fight.
Achil.
I do disdain thy Courtesie, proud Trojan,
Be happy that my Arms are out of use:
My rest and negligence befriend thee now,
But thou anon shalt hear of me again:
'Till when, go seek thy Fortune.
Hect.
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 Æneas; shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious Heaven
He shall not carry him: I'll be taken too,
-- 1900 --
Or bring him off: Fate, hear me what I say;
I wreak not, though thou end my Life to Day.
[Exit.
Enter one in Armor.
Hect.
Stand, stand, 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 Master of it; wilt thou not, Beast, abide?
Why then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy Hide.
[Exit.
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 your selves in Breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your Weapons round about:
In fellest manner execute your Arms,
Follow me, Sirs, and my proceeding Eye;
It is decreed—Hector the Great must die.
[Exit.
Enter Thersites, 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
Sparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the Bull has the Game: 'ware
Horns, ho.
[Exit Paris and Menelaus.
Enter Bastard.
Bast.
Turn, Slave, and fight.
Ther.
What art thou?
Bast.
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: Farewel,
Bastard.
Bast.
The Devil take the Coward.
[Exeunt.
Enter Hector.
Hect.
Most putrified Core! so fair without:—
Thy goodly Armor 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.
-- 1901 --
Enter Achilles, and his Myrmidons.
Achil.
Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to set;
How ugly Night comes breathing at his Heels:
Even with the veil and darking of the Sun,
To close the Day up, Hector's Life is done.
[They fall upon Hector and kill him.
Hect.
I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil.
Strike, Fellows, strike, this is the Man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou: Now, Troy, sink down:
Here lies thy Heart, thy Sinews and thy Bone.
On, Myrmidons, cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.
Hark, a Retreat upon our Grecian part.
[Retreat.
Myr.
The Trojan Trumpets sound the like, my Lord.
Achil.
The dragon Wing of Night o'er spreads the Earth,
And, Stickler-like, the Armies separates;
My half supt Sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty Bit, thus goes to Bed.
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, Nestor, Diomede, and the rest marching,
Aga.
Hark, hark, what shout is that?
Nest.
Peace, Drums.
Sol.
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.
Aga.
March patiently along; let one be sent
To pray Achilles see 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.
Æne.
Stand ho, yet are we Masters of the Field,
Never go home, here starve we out the Night.
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Hector is slain.
All.
Hector!—the Gods forbid!
-- 1902 --
Troi.
He's dead, and at the Murtherer'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.
Troi.
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 Scrietch-Owl ay be call'd,
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;
Cool Statues of the Youth; and, in a Word,
Scare Troy out of self. 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 rise, as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you. And thou great siz'd Coward
No space of Earth shall sunder our two Hates,
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked Conscience still,
That mouldeth Goblins swift as Frensies thoughts,
Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort go:
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward Woe.
Enter Pandarus.
Pan.
But hear you, hear you?
Troi.
Hence, Brothel, Lacky, Ignominy and Shame
[Strikes him.
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 despis'd:
Oh, Traitors and Bawds; how earnestly are you set at Work,
and how ill requited? why should our Endeavour be so desir'd,
and the Performance so loath'd? What Verse for it?
what instance for it?—Let me see—
-- 1903 --
Full merrily the Humble Bee doth sing,
'Till he hath lost his Hony and his Sting;
But being once subdu'd in armed Tail,
Sweet Hony and sweet Notes together fail.
Good Traders in the Flesh, set this in your painted Cloathes;
As many as be here of Pandar's Hall,
Your Eyes half out, weep out at Pindar's Fall;
Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aking Bones.
Brethren and Sisters of the hold-door Trade,
Some two Months hence, my Will shall here be made:
It should be now, but that my fear is this,
Some galled Goose of Winchester would hiss;
'Till then, I'll swear, and seek about for Eases,
And at that time bequeath you my Diseases.
[Exeunt.
