Enter Troilus. Trois Ajax hath ta'en Eneas; shall it be? [Exit. Het. Stand, ftand, thou Greek, thou art a goodly mark: No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well, I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all, But I'll be mafter of it; wilt thou not, beaft, abide ? Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons. SCENE XIII. Enter Therfites, Menelaus and Paris. [Exeunt. Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker at at it now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now my double-hen'd fparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game: 'ware horns, ho. [Exeunt Paris, and Menelaus. Enter Baftard. Baft. Turn, flave, and fight. Ther. What art thou? Baft. A baftard fon of Priam's. Ther. I am a baftard too, I love baftards. I am baftard begot, baftard inftructed, baftard in mind, baftard in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one Bear will not bite another, and wherefore fhould one baftard? take heed, the quarrel's moft ominous to us: If the fon of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: farewel, bastard. Baft. The devil take thee, coward, SCENE XIV.. Enter Hector. [Exeunt. Het. Moft putrified core, fo fair without ! Thy goodly armour thus hath coft thy life. Now is my day's work done ; I'll take my breath: Rest, sword, thou haft thy fill of blood and death. Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to fet ; [They fall upon Hector, and kill him. Heat. I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. 3 Strike, fellows, ftrike, this is the man I feek. So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, fink down Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth; And, ftickler-like, the armies feparates. My half-fupt fword, that frankly would have fed, Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt; [Sound retreat. Shout. 3 Strike, fellows, ftrike,] This particular of Achilles over-powering Hector by numbers, is taken from the old ftory book, Oxford Editor. Enter Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomede, and the reft marching. Aga. Hark, hark, what fhout is that? Sol. Achilles! Achilles! Hector's flain! Achilles! Aga. March patiently along; let one be fent If in his death the Gods have us befriended, SCENE XV. [Exeunt. Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus. Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we mafters of the field; Never go home, here ftarve we out the night. Enter Troilus. Troi. He's dead, and at the murtherer's horfe's tail Ane. My lord, you do difcomfort all the Hoft. 4 Frown on, you beav'ns, effect your rage with speed; Sit, Gods, upon your Thrones, and SMILE at Troy,] Here Troilus is made to invoke the Gods to frown in one line, and to Smile in the other: And, as if he had not talked nonsense enough, after having made them do and undo, and protract the fate of Troy, in the next line he begs them to be speedy and brief, and dispatch them at once. We fhould read and point the paffage thus, Sit, Gods, upon your Thrones, and SMITE at Troy, mercy. Who Who fhall tell Priam fo? or Hecuba? 5 Make welling Niobes of the maids and wives; I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd coward! No space of earth fhall funder our two hates; Pan. But hear you, hear you? Troi. Hence, brothel-lacquey; ignominy, fhame [Strikes him. Purfue thy life, and live ay with thy an [Exeunt. Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aking bones! Oh world! world! world! thus is the poor agent defpis'd: Oh, traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you fet at work, and how ill requited? why fhould our endeavour be fo lov'd, and the performance fo loath'd? what verfe for it? what inftance for it? fee Full merrily the humble-bee doth fing, let me 5 Make WELLS AND Niobes of the maids and wives;] We fhould certainly read, wELLING Niobes, i. e. Niobes welling, or ftreaming down with tears. To well, an old word to bubble or fpring out. The image of Niobe was here properly employed. So in Hamlet, like Niobe all tears. But the Oxford Editor alters it to wells and rivers. But But being once fubdu'd in armed tail, Sweet honey and fweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, fet this in your painted cloths As many as be here of Pandar's Hall; Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; Some two months hence my will shall here be made: [Exite 6 Some galled goofe of Winchefter- ] The publick stews were anciently under the jurifdiction of the bishop of Winchester. Mr. Pope. The End of the Seventh Volume.. |