Enter Achilles, and his Myrmidons.
Achil. Look, Hector, now the Sun begins to fet;
How ugly Night comes breathing at his Heels:
Even with the veil and darking of the Sun,
To close the Day up, Hector's Life is done,
[They fall upon Hector and kill him,
Hect. I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil. Strike, Fellows, ftrike, this is the Man I feck.
So, Ilion, fall thou: Now, Troy, fink down:
Here lies thy Heart, thy Sinews and thy Bene.
On, Myrmidons, 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, Stickler-like, the Armies feparates;
My half fupt Sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty Bit, thus goes to Bed.
Come, tye his Body to my Hor fe's Tail:
Along the Field, I will the Trojan trail.
Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Neftor, Diomede,
and the rest marching.
Aga. Hark, hark, what fhout is that?
Neft. Peace, Drums.
Sol. Achilles Achilles! Hector's flain, Achilles!
Dio. The Bruit is, Hector's flain, and by Achilles.
Ajax. If it fo, yet braglefs let it be:
Great Hector was as good a Man as he.
Aga. March patiently along; let one be sent
To pray Achilles fee us at our Tent.
If in his Death the Gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp Wars are ended.
Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus
Ane. Stand ho, yet are we Mafters of the Field,
Never go home, here ftarve we out the Night.
Enter Troilus,
Troi. Hector is flain.
All. Hector!-the Gods forbid!
Troi He's dead, and at the Murtherer'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 fmile at Troy.
I fay at once, let your brief Plagues be Mercy,
And linger not our fure Deftructions on.
Ene. My Lord, you do discomfort all the Host.
Troi. You understand me not, that tell me fo:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of Death,
But dare all imminence, that Gods and Men'
Addrefs their Dangers in. Hector is gone:
Who fhall tell Priam fo? or Hecuba?
Let him that will a Scrierch-Owl ay be call'd,
Go in to Troy, and fay there, Hector's dead:
There is a word will Priam turn to Stone;
Make Wells, and Niobes of the Maids and Wives;
Cool Statues of the Youth; and, in a Word,
Scare Troy out of it felf. 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 rife, as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you. And thou great fiz'd Coward
No space of Earth fhall funder our two Hates,
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked Confcience ftill,
That mouldeth Goblings fwift as Frenfies thoughts,
Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort go:
Hope of revenge fhall hide our inward Woe.
Enter Pandarus.
Pan. But hear you, hear you?
Troi. Hence, Brothel, Lacky, Ignominy and Shame,
[Strikes him. Purfue thy Life, and live aye with thy Name. [Exeunt.
Pan. A goodly med'cine for mine aking Bones: Oh World! World! World! thus is the poor Agent defpis'd: Oh, Traitors and Bawds; how earnestly are you fet at Work, and how ill requited? why fhould our Endeavour be fo defir'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 he hath loft his Hony and his Sting;
But being once fubdu'd in armed Tail,
Sweet Hony and fweet Notes together fail.
Good Traders in the Flesh, fet this in your painted Cloaths;
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 Sifters 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 Goose of Winchester would hifs;
'Till then, I'll fwear, and feeek about for Eafes,
And at that time bequeath you my Diseases.
Printed in the YEAR 1709.
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