Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to

day.

Tro. Who should withhold me?

Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars.

Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,

Their eyes o'ergalléd with recourse of tears;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn
Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way,
But by my ruin.

Re-enter CASSANDRA with PRIAM.

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : He is thy crutch; now, if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together.

Pri.

Come, Hector, come; go back:

Thy wife hath dreamed; thy mother hath had

visions;

Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt,
To tell thee that this day is ominous :
Therefore, come back.

Hect

Eneas is afield;

And I do stand engaged to

Even in the faith of valour to appear

This morning to them.

Pri.

Ay, but thou shalt not go.

Hect.. I must not break my faith.

You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
Let me not shame respect, but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice,
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.

Cas. O Priam, yield not to him.

And.

Do not, dear father.

Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you:

Upon the love you bear me, get you in.

[Exit ANDROMACHE.

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl

Makes all these bodements.

Cas.

O farewell, dear Hector!

Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns

pale!

Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents!
Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out!
How
poor Andromache shrills her dolour forth!
Behold, distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like witless anticks one another meet,

And all cry' Hector!'

Hector!

Tro. Away! away!

'Hector 's dead!' O

Cas. Farewell.-Yet, soft!-Hector, I take my

leave:

Thou dost thyself, and all our Troy deceive. [Exit.

Hect. You are amazed, my liege, at her exclaim. Go in and cheer the town: we'll forth and fight, Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell, the gods with safety stand about thee.

[Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR.

[Alarums.

Tro. They are at it; hark!-Proud Diomed,

believe,

I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. [Going.

Enter PANDARUS.

Pan. Do you, hear, my lord? do you hear?
Tro. What now?

Pan. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.
Tro. Let me read.

Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl; and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o' these days: and I have a rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on 't.-What says she there?

Tro. Words, words, mere words; no matter from

Go, wind to wind, there turn and change together.My love with words and errors still she feeds,

But edifies another with her deeds.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE IV.-Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. Alarums: Excursions. Enter THERSITES.

:

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another : I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting 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 whoremasterly villain with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand. O' the other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals,—that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dogfox Ulysses-is not proved worth a blackberry :— they set me up, in policy, that mongrel 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 begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill-opinion. Soft! here comes sleeve, and t other.

Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following.

Tro. Fly not; for shouldst 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 !

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian !-now for thy whore, Trojan !-now the sleeve! now the sleeveless ! [Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES, fighting.

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!