Aga.
We go wrong, we go wrong.

Ajax.
No, yonder 'tis; there, where we see the light.

Hect.
I trouble you.

Ajax.
No, not a whit. Enter Achilles.

Ulys.
Here comes himself to guide you.

Achil.
Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.

Aga.
So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night.
Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you.

Hect.
Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' General.

Men.
Good night, my lord.

Hect.
Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.

Ther.

Sweet draught—sweet, quoth a—sweet sink, sweet sewer.

Achil.
Good night, and welcome, both at once, to Those
That go or tarry.

Aga.
Good night.

Achil.
Old Nestor tarries, and you too, Diomede,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.

Dio.
I cannot, lord, I have important business,
The tide whereof is now; good night, great Hector.

Hect.
Give me your hand.

Ulys.
Follow his torch, he goes to Calchas' tent:
I'll keep you company. [To Troilus.

Troi.
Sweet Sir, you honour me.

Hect.

And so, good night.

Achil.

Come, come, enter my tent.

Ther.

That same Diomede's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave: I will no more trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretel it, that it is prodigious, there will come some change: the Sun borrows of the Moon, when Diomede keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him: they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas his tent. I'll after—Nothing but letchery; all incontinent varlets.