« 前へ次へ »
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
And. O! be persuaded : Do not count it holy
Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
Hold you still, I say;
Enter Troilus. How now, young man ? meau'st thou to fight to
day? And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.
[Exit Cassandra. Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff † thy har.
nes3, youth, I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry: Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave boy, l'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy.
Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion, than a man. Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me
Hect. 0, 'tis fair play.
fool's play, by Heaven, Hector. Hect. How now? how now? Tro.
For the love of all the gods,
Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother;
Hector, then 'tis wars. Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.
Tro. Who should withhold me? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; Not Priamns and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin.
Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam, Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: He is thy crutch; uow if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together. Pri.
Come, Hector, come, go back :
Æneas is afield;
But thou shalt not go.
Cas. O Priam, yield not to him.
Do not, dear father. Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you: Upon the love you bear me, get you in.
[Erit Andromache, Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl, Makes all these bodements. Cas.
O farewell, dear Hector.
leave : Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. (Exit.
Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim: Go in, and cheer the town: we'll forth, and fight; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand about
thee! Ereunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, be
. lieve, I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.
As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side,
Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?
Pan. A whoreson ptisick, a whoreson rascally ptisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this
girl; and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o'these days: And I have a rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on't.-What says she there? Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;
(Tearing the letter. The effect doth operate another way.Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together, My love with words and errors still she feeds; But edifies another with her deeds.
Between Troy and the Grecian camp.
Alarums: excursions. Enter Thersites. Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var. let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm: I would fain see them meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, (might send that Greekish whoremaster villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeveless errand. O' the other side, The policy of those crafty swearing rascals, that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not proved worth a blackberry :-They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and no cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to day: whereupon the Grecians begin to pro. claim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft! here come sleeve, and t'other.
Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.
Thou dost miscall retire:
Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian !-now for thy whore, Trojan !now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
(Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting.
Hect. What art thou, Greek ? art thou for Hec
tor's match? Art thou of blood, and honour?
Ther. No, no:-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. Hect. I do believe thee;-live.
(Erit. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think, they have swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them.
Enter Diomedes and a Servant.