To every ticklish reader: set them down
For fluttish Spoils of Opportunity,
And Daughters of the Game.

[Trumpet within, Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and

Attendants.
All. The Trojans' trumpet!
Aga. Yonder comes the troop.

Æne. Hail all the State of Greece! what shall be done
To him that Victory commands? Or do you purpose,
A Victor shall be known? will you, the Knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice, or order of the field?
Heator bad ask.
Aga. Which

way

would Hector have it? Æne. He cares not ; he'll obey conditions.

Achil. 'Tis done like Heftor, but securely done, (38)
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The Knight oppos’d.

Æne. If not Achilles, Sir,
What is your name?

Achil. If not Achilles, nothing.
Æne. Therefore, Achilles ; but whate'er, know this ;
In the extremity of great and little
Valour and pride excel themselves in Heator ;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing ; weigh him well;
And That, which looks like pride, is courtefie.

(38) Agam. "Tis done like Hector, but securely done ;] It seems absurd to me, that Agamemnon should make a Remark to the Disparagement of Hector for Pride, and that Æneas should immediately say, If not" Achilles, Sir, what is your Name ? and then defire him to take Notice, that Hektor was as void of Pride as he was full of Valour. Why was Achilles to take Notice of this, if it was Agamemnon that threw this Imputation of Pride in Hektor's Teeth? I was fully satisfied, that this Reproach on Hector ought to be placed to Achilles, as I have ventur'd to place it ; and consulting Mr. Dryden's Alteration of this Play, I was not a little pleas'd to find that I had bụt seconded the Opinion of that Great Man in this point. I regulated the Passage in the Appendix of my SHAKESPEAR B restord; and Mr. Pope has follow'd my Regulation in his last Edition of our Poet.

This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,
In love whereof, half Hestor stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector, come to seek
This blended Knight, half Trojan and half Greek.
Achil. A maiden battel then? O, I perceive you.

Re-enter Diomede.
Aga. Here is Sir Diomede : go, gentle Knight,
Stand by our Ajax; as you and lord Æneas
Consent upon the order of the fight, ,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or elle a breath. The Combatants being kin
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.

Ulys. They are oppos'd already.
Aga. What Trojan is that same, that looks so heavy?
Ulys. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ;
Not foon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, foon calmid;
His heart and hand both open, and both free;
For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shews ;
Yet gives he not, 'till judgment guide his bounty;
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath :
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ;
For Heftor in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects ; but he in heat of action
Is more vindicative than jealous love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A fecond hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Æneas, one that knows the youth
Ev'n to his inches; and with private foul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.

[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight. Aga. They are in action. Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own. Troi. Hector, thou sleep'st, awake thee. Aga. His blows are well dispos’d ; there, Ajax.

[Trumpets cease. Dio. You must no more. Æne. Princés, enough, so please you.

Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again.
Dio. As Hestor pleases.

Heet. Why then, will I no more.
Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son ; (39)
A coufin-german to great Priam's seed:
The obligation of our blood forbids
А gory

emulation 'twixt us. twain ;
Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan fo,
That thou coud'st say, this hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan ; the finews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this finifter
Bounds in my fire's: by Jove multipotent,
Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish member,
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud: But the just Gods gainsay,
That any drop thou borrow'ft from thy mother,
My facred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax :
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
Hetor would have them fall upon him thus-
Cousin, all honour to thee!

Ajax. I thank thee, Heator!
Thou art too gentle, and too free a man:
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.

Heat. Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
(On whose bright crest, Fame, with her loud'st O yes,
Cries, this is he ;) could promise to himself
A thought of-added honour torn from Hestor.

Æne. There is expectance here from both the sides, What further you will do.

HeEl. We'll answer it:
The issue is embracement: Ajax, farewel.

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, (As feld I have the chance) I would defire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.

(39) Thou art, great lord, my Father's Sifter's San ;] For Ajax, as well as Teucer, was the Son of Hefione, who was the Daughter of Laomedon, and Sister of Priam.

Dio. 'Tis Agamemon's wish, and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm’d the valiant HeEtor.

Heet. Æneas, call my brother Troilus to me: And signifie this loving interview To the expectors of our Trojan part: Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my Cousin: I will go eat with thee, and see your Knights.

Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

Heft. The worthieft of them tell me name by name; But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size.

Aga. 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, faich and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great 'Hector, welcome.

Heet. I thank chee, most imperious Agamemnon. Aga. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.

[To Troilus. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's Greeting, You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.

Heel. Whom must we answer?
Æne. The noble Menelaus.

Hect. 0-you, my lord-by Mars his gauntlet, thanks.
Mock not, that I affect th' untraded oath;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove:
She's well, but bad me not commend her to you.

Men. Name her not now, Sir, she's a deadly theme. Heet. O, pardon-I offend.

Neft. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for deftiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greek jb youth ; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, fpur thy Phrygian steed, Bravely despising forfeits and subduements,

When

When thou hast hung thy advanc'd sword i'th' air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd:
That I have said unto my standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This I've seen:
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw 'cill now. I knew thy Grandfire,
And once fought with him ; he was a soldier good;
But by great Mars, the Captain of us all,
Never like thee, Let an old man embrace thee,
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

Æne, 'Tis the old Neftor.

HeEt. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That haft so long walk'd hand in hand with time: Moft reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. Neft. I would, my arms could match thee in con

tention,
As they contend with thee in courtefie.

Heet. I would, they could.
Neft. By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to

morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome; I have seen the time

Ulyf. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here the base and pillar by us.

Het. I know your favour, lord Ulyses, well.
Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw your self and Diomede
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassie.

Ulys. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
My prophesie is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.

Heat, I must not believe you :
There they stand yet; and, modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood; the end crowns all,

And