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Another Part of the Plains. | |
| |
Enter ÆNEAS and Trojans. | |
| Æne. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. | |
| Never go home; here starve we out the night. | |
| |
Enter TROILUS. | 5 |
| Tro. Hector is slain. | |
| All. Hector! the gods forbid! | |
| Tro. He’s dead; and at the murderer’s horse’s tail, | |
| In beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field. | |
| Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed! | 10 |
| 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! | |
| Æne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. | |
| Tro. You understand me not that tell me so. | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| 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: | 25 |
| Hector is dead; there is no more to say. | |
| Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, | |
| Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, | |
| Let Titan rise as early as he dare, | |
| I’ll through and through you! And, thou great-siz’d coward, | 30 |
| No space of earth shall sunder our two hates: | |
| I’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, | |
| That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts. | |
| Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go: | |
| Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. [Exeunt ÆNEAS and Trojan Forces. | 35 |
| |
|
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As TROILUS is going out, enter, from the other side, PANDARUS.
|
| Pan. But hear you, hear you! | |
| Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy and shame | |
| Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name! [Exit. | |
Pan. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! why should our endeavour be so loved, and the performance so loathed? what verse for it? what instance for it?—Let me see!— | Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, |
| Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; |
| And being once subdu’d in armed tail, |
| Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. |
| 40 |
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. |
[Exit. | |
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