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Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. There is a thousand Hectors in the field: Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, And there lacks work; anon, he's there afoot, And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, Fall down before him, like the mower's swath. Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes;
Dexterity so obeying appetite,
That what he will, he does; and does so much,
Ulyss. O courage, courage, princes! great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance; Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons.
Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have
Ere that correction: - Troilus, I say! what, Troilus!
Tro. O traitor Diomed!
turn thy false face,
And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse!
Ajar. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed.
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; Shall it be? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry him; I'll be taken too,
Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done. Hect. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. [HECTOR falls. So, Ilion, fall thou next; now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
Another Part of the Field.
Enter ENEAS and Trojans.
Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field: Never go home; here starve we out the night. Enter TROILUS.
Tro. Hector is slain.
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on!
Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. Tro. 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 screech-owl aye be call'd, Go in to Troy, and say there— Hector's dead: There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away: Hector is dead; there is no more to say. Stay yet; - You vile abominable tents, Thus proudly night upon our Phrygian plains, Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I'll through and through you!— And thou, greatsiz'd coward!
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still.
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting: And being once subdued 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 pander'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 aching 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, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases; And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases.
Pain. Indifferent. Poet. Admirable How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good?
I'll say of it,
Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord's follow'd!
Poet. The senators of Athens :- Happy men! Pain. Look, more!
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Pain. How shall I understand you
A gentleman, that well deserves a help,
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran-
I'll unbolt to you. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o' the
But to support him after. - Fare you well.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
Tim. Attends he here, or no? - Lucilius !
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy creature,
By night frequents my house.
Does she love him?
Old Ath. She is young, and apt:
Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid'