Aga.
Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
Anticipating time. With starting courage,
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax, that th' appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant,
And hale him hither.

Ajax.
Trumpet, there's my purse;
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow villain, 'till thy sphered bias cheek
Out-swell the cholick of puft Aquilon:

Come stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:
Thou blow'st for Hector.

Ulys.
No trumpet answers.

Achil.
'Tis but early day. Enter Diomede and Cressida.

Aga.
Is not yond' Diomede with Calchas' daughter?

Ulys.
'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gate,
He rises on his toe; that spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth.

Aga.
Is this the lady Cressida?

Dio.
Ev'n she.

Aga.
Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.* ^note

Dio.
Lady, a word—I'll bring you to your father—

Nest.
A woman of quick sense. [Diomedes leads out Cressida, then returns.

Ulys.
Fie, fie upon her:
&plquo;There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip:
&plquo;Nay, her foot speaks, her wanton spirits look out
&plquo;At every joint, and motive of her body:
&plquo;Oh these Encounterers! So glib of tongue,
&plquo;They give a coasting welcome ere it comes;
&plquo;And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts,
&plquo;To every ticklish reader: set them down
&plquo;For sluttish spoils of opportunity,
&plquo;And daughters of the game. Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and attendants.

All.
The Trojans trumpet!

Aga.
Yonder comes the troop.

Æne.
Hail all the state of Greece! what shall be done
To him that victory commands? do you purpose,
A victor shall be known? will you, the knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice, or order of the field?
Hector bad ask.

Aga.
Which way would Hector have it?

Æne.
He cares not; he'll obey conditions.

Aga.
'Tis done like Hector, but securely done,
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The knight oppos'd.

Æne.
If not Achilles, Sir, what is your name?

Achil.
If not Achilles, nothing.

Æne.
Therefore Achilles; but whate'er, know this;
In the extremity of great and little
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing; weigh him well;
And that which looks like pride, is courtesie.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,
In love whereof, half Hector stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector, come to seek
This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.

Achil.
A maiden battel then? O, I perceive you.

Aga.
Here is Sir Diomede: go, gentle knight,
Stand by our Ajax; as you and lord Æneas
Consent upon the order of their fight,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breath. The combatants being kin
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.

Ulys.
They are oppos'd already.

Aga.
What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?

Ulys.
The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word,
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue;
Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd;
His heart and hand both open, and both free;
For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shews;
Yet gives he not 'till judgment guide his bounty,

Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath:
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects; but he in heat of action
Is more vindicative than jealous love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Æneas, one that knows the youth
Ev'n to his inches; and with private soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. [Alarum.

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