Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.

Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons.
Mark what I fay, attend me where I wheel;
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourfelves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about:
In felleft manner execute your arms.
Follow me, Sirs, and my proceeding eye:
It is decreed- Hector the great must die.

Enter Therfites, Menelaus and Paris.

[Exeunt.

Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it: now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now, my doublehen'd fparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game: 'ware horns, ho. [Exe. Paris and Menelaus.

Baf. A baftard fon of Priam's.

Ther. I am a bastard too, I love baftards. I am a baftard begot, baftard inftructed, baftard in mind, baftard in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one bear will not bite another (51), and wherefore fhould one baftard? take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: If the fon of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judg ment: farewel, baftard.

Baft. The devil take thee, coward.

Enter Hector.

Het. Moft putrified core, fo fair without!. Thy goodly armour thus hath coft thy life.

[Exeunt.

Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath:
Reft, fword, thou haft thy fill of blood and death.

(51) One bear will not bite another.] So, Juvenal fays more feriously : -fævis inter fe convenit urfis,

Enter

Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Achil. Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to fet
How ugly Night comes breathing at his heels:
Ev'n with the veil and darkning of the fun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

[They fall upon Hector, and kill him.
Heat. I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike, this is the man I feek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, fink down:
Here lies thy heart, thy finews and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector flain.

Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.

Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my Lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erfpreads the earth; And, ftickler-like, the armies feparates. (52) My half-fupt fword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. Come, tie his body to my horfe's tail: Along the field I will the Trojan trail.

[Exeunt.

[Sound retreat. Shout.

(52) And, tickler-like, the armies feparate ;] So Mr. Pope in both his editions; by which means, the comparison ftands thus ;"The armies separate of themselves, as fticklers feparate others." But with that editor's permiffion, we must call back the reading of the better copies; and then the fenfe will be this: "Night, stickler-> "like, puts an end to the engagement, and feparates the armies." I am apt to think, Mr. Pope did not know the word, or the office of the perfon intended by it. The French call these gentry, moyenneurs, arbitres, perfonnes interpofées. In this very play, Diomede and Æneas are fticklers to Ajax and Hector in their combat: feconds, to fee fair play, and arbitrate the duel. The word was familiar both to Ben. Johnfon and Beaumont and Fletcher.

Who is drawn hither by report of your cartels, advanced in court, to prove his fortune with your prizer, fo he may have fair play fhewn him, and the liberty to chufe his tickler.

Cynthia's Revels

Lop. He keeps his fury ftill, and may do mischief,
Mil. He fhall be hang'd first; we'll be ficklers there, boys.

Spanish Curate.

Enter

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomede, and the reft, marching.

Aga. Hark, hark, what fhout is that?
Neft. Peace, drums.

Sol. Achilles! Achilles! Hector's flain! Achilles!
Die. The bruit is, Hector's flain, and by Achilles.
Ajax. If it is fo, yet braglefs let it be:
Great Hector was as good a man as he.

Age. March patiently along: let one be fent
To pray Achilles fee us at our tent.

If in his death the Gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our fharp wars are ended. [Exe.
Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Ene. Stand, ho!, yet are we mafters of the field
Never go home, here ftarve we out the night.

Troi. He's dead, and at the murderer's horfe's tail
In beaftly fort dragg'd through the fhameful field..
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with speed;
Sit, Gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy !
I fay, at once, let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our fure deftructions on.

Ene. My Lord, you do difcomfort all the hoft.
Troi. 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
Addrefs their dangers in. Hesor is gone!

Who fhall tell Priam fo? or Hecuba?

Let him, that will a fcrietch owl ay be call'd,
Go into Troy, and fay there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to ftone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold ftatues of the youth;
Scare Troy out of itself.
Hair is dead: there is no
VOL. VII.

and, in a word, But march away, more to say.

U

Stay

Stay yet, you vile abominable tents,

Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains:
Let Titan rife as early as he dare,

[coward!
I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd
No space of earth fhall funder our two hates;
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked confcience ftill,
That mouldeth goblins fwift as frenzy's thoughts.
Strike a free march to Try with comfort go:
Hope of revenge fhall hide our inward wce.

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. But hear you, hear you?

Trai. Hence, brothel-lacquey; ignominy, fhame

[Strikes him. Pursue thy life, and live ay with thy name! [Exeunt.

Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aking bones! Oh world! world! world! thus is the poor agent despis'd : Oh, traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you let at work, and how ill requited? why should our endeavour be fo lov'd, and the performance fo loath'd? what verfe for it? what inftance for it- -let me fee. Full merrily the humble-bee doth fing, 'Till be hath loft his honey and his fting; But being once fubdu'd in armed tail, Sweet honey and fweet notes together fail.

Good traders in the flesh, fet this in your painted cloths-
As many as be here of Pandar'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 aking bones.
Brethren and fifters of the hold-door trade,

Some two months hence my will fhall here be made:
It should be now; but that my fear is this,
Some galled goofe of Winchester would hifs:
'Till then, I'll fweat, and feek about for eases;
And at that time bequeath you my difeafes.

[Exit.

END of the SEVENTH VOLUME.