The History of Troilus and Cressida
William Shakespeare [Craig edition]
Part 4 out of 4
O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor,
And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse.
Ha! art thou there?
I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.
He is my prize. I will not look upon.
Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you--
Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!
Now do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!
Pause, if thou wilt.
I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Be happy that my arms are out of use;
My rest and negligence befriend thee now,
But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
Till when, go seek thy fortune.
Fare thee well.
I would have been much more a fresher man,
Had I expected thee.
How now, my brother!
Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too,
Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:
I reck not though thou end my life to-day.
[Enter one in armour.]
Stand, stand, 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 master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?
Why then, fly on; I'll hunt thee for thy hide.
SCENE 7. Another part of the plain
[Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons.]
Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about;
In fellest manner execute your aims.
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.
It is decreed Hector the great must die.
[Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then THERSITES.]
The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull!
now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-henned sparrow! 'loo,
Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. 'Ware horns, ho!
[Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS.]
Turn, slave, and fight.
What art thou?
A bastard son of Priam's.
I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard
begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in
everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and
wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most
ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts
judgment. Farewell, bastard.
The devil take thee, coward!
SCENE 8. Another part of the plain
Most putrified core so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
[Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons.]
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.
I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain
'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
[A retreat sounded.]
Hark! a retreat upon our Grecian part.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
[Sheathes his sword.]
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.
SCENE 9. Another part of the plain
[Sound retreat. Shout. Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR,
DIOMEDES, and the rest, marching.]
Hark! hark! what shout is this?
[Within.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles!
The bruit is Hector's slain, and by Achilles.
If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
March patiently along. Let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
If in his death the gods have us befriended;
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
SCENE 10. Another part of the plain
[Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS.]
Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.
Never go home; here starve we out the night.
Hector is slain.
Hector! The gods forbid!
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.
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.
My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
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 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,
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.
But hear you, hear you!
Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame
Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name!
[Exeunt all but PANDARUS.]
A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! thus
is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are
you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be
so lov'd, 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 trail,
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.
Back to Full Books