All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood Ajax. I thank thee, Hector: Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes A thought of added honour torn from Hector. Hect. We'll answer it; To the expecters of our Trojan part; Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin ; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size. Agam. Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy; But that's no welcome: understand more clear, What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee, with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. Agam. [To Troilus] My well-famed lord of Troy, no less to you. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting; You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. Hect. Who must we answer? Ene. The noble Menelaus. Hect. O, you, my lord! by Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove : Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air, 'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!' And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee; Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time: Hect. I would they could. Nest. Ha! By this white beard, I'ld fight with thee to-morrow : Ah, sir, there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead, In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet. Hect. I must not believe you : Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome : To feast with me and see me at my tent. Hect. Achil. I am Achilles. Is this Achilles ? Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. Hect. Nay, I have done already. Achil. Thou art too brief: I will the second time, As I would 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, or 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 blest gods, proud man, To answer such a question: stand again : Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, As to prenominate in nice conjecture Where thou wilt hit me dead? Achil I tell thee, yea. Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? Hect. Thy hand upon that match. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall [Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses. Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, 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 Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, [Exeunt. 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, 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. Prithee, 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' thep alm, 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 mean'st thou to curse thus ? Ther. Do I curse thee? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no. Ther. No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such waterflies, diminutives of nature ! Patr. Out, gall! Ther. Finch-egg! Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite A token from her daughter, my fair love, *D 155 |