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From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious! Agamemnon. Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. [To Troilus.

Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting;You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. Hect. Whom must we answer?

Men.

The noble Menelaus. Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet,

thanks!

Mock not, that I affect the untraded2 oath;
Your quondam3 wife swears still by Venus' glove:
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.
Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly
theme.

Hect. O, pardon; I offend.

Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee,

As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Despising many forfeits and subduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i'the air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd;4
That I have said to some my standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!

And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath,
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,5
And once fought with him: he was a soldier good;
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee:
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
Ene. 'Tis the old Nestor.

(1) Imperial.

(2) Singular, not common.

(3) Heretofore. (4) Fallen.

(5) Laomedon.

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Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time :Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in
contention,

As they contend with thee in courtesy.
Hect. I would they could.

Nest. Ha!

By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time-
Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here her base and pillar by us.
Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue :
My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.

Hect.

I must not believe you: There they stand yet; and modestly I think, The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, time, Will one day end it.

Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome: After the general, I beseech you next

To feast with me, and see me at my tent.

Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou!Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted1 joint by joint.

Hect.

Achil. I am Achilles.

Is this Achilles?

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee.

(1) Observed.

Achil. Behold thy fill.
Hect.
Nay, I have done already.
Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time,
As I could buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?
Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of
his body

Shall I destroy him; whether there, there, or there?
That I may give the local wound a name;
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens!
Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud

man,

To answer such a question: Stand again:
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly,
As to prenominatel in nice conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?`

Achil.

I tell thee, yea.

Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that stithied2 Mars his helm, I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ;And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't: You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach ;3 the general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field; We have had pelting4 wars, since you refus'd

(1) Forename. (3) Inclination.

(2) Stithy is a smith's shop.
(4) Petty.

VOL. VI.

The Grecians' cause.

Achil.

Dost thou entreat me, Hector?

To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
To-night, all friends.

Hect.

Thy hand upon that match. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my

tent;

There in the full convivel we: afterwards,
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally entreat him.—
Beat loud the taborines,2 let the trumpets blow,
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses.
Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus:
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night;
Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid.

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,

After we part from Agamemnon's tent,

To bring me thither?

Ulyss.

You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there That wails her absence?

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth : But still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt

(1) Feast,

(2) Small drums.

ACT V.

SCENE I.—The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent. Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,

Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
Patroclus, let-us feast him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Thersites.

Achil.

Enter Thersites.

How now, thou core of envy?

Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Patr. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well said, Adversity!! and what need these tricks?

Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet.

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i'the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?

Ther. Do I curse thee?

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.

(1) Contrariety.

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