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!
Troi.
He's dead, and at the murtherer's horse's tail
In beastly sort dragg'd through the shameful field.
4 note
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with speed;
-- 487 --
Sit, Gods, upon your Thrones, and smite 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 into Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to stone;
5 note
Make welling Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of it 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 Frenzy's 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?
-- 488 --
Troi.
Hence, brothel-lacquey; ignominy, shame
[Strikes him.
Pursue thy life, and live ay with thy name!
[Exeunt.
Pan.
A goodly med'cine for my 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 lov'd, and the performance so loath'd?
what verse for it? what instance for it?—let me
see—
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
'Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
But being once subdu'd in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths—
As many as be here of Pandar's Hall,
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar'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,
6 noteSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss;
'Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases;
And at that time bequeath you my diseases.
[Exit.
