And.
When was my lord so much ungently temper'd,
To stop his ears against admonishment?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.

Hect.
You train me to offend you; get you gone.
By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.

Ant.
My dreams will sure prove ominous to-day.

Hect.
No more, I say. Enter Cassandra.

Cas.
Where is my brother Hector?

And.
Here sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent:
Consort with me in loud and dear petition;
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt
Of bloody turbulence; and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.

Cas.
O, 'tis true.

Hect.
Ho! bid my trumpet sound.

Cas.
No notes of sally, for the heav'ns, sweet brother.

Hect.
Be gone, I say: the gods have heard me swear.

Cas.
The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

And.
O be perswaded, do not count it holy,
To hurt by being just; it were as lawful
For us to count we give what's gain'd by thefts,
And rob in the behalf of charity.

Cas.
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
But vows to every purpose must not hold:
Unarm, sweet Hector

Hect.
Hold you still, I say;
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate;
Life every man holds dear, but the brave man
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. Enter Troilus.
How now, young man; mean'st thou to fight to-day?

And.
Cassandra, call my father to perswade. [Exit Cassandra.

Hect.
No faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth:
I am to-day i'th' vein of chivalry:
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I'll stand to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy.

Troi.
Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you;
Which better fits a lion, than a man.

Hect.
What vice is that? good Troilus, chide me for it.

Troi.
When many times the captive Grecians fall,
Ev'n in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise, and live.

Hect.
O, 'tis fair play.

Troi.
Fools-play, by heav'n, Hector.

Hect.
How now? how now?

Troi.
For love of all the gods,
Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers;
And when we have our armours buckled on,
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
Spur them to ruful work, rein them from ruth.

Hect.
Fie, savage, fie.

Troi.
Hector, thus 'tis in wars.

Hect.
Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.

Troi.
Who should with-hold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckning with fiery truncheon my retire,
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o'er-galled with recourse of tears;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way,
But by my ruin.

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