Chapter XXIII: Act V: Scene I

HECTOR, _Trojans,_ ANDROMACHE.

_Hect._ The blue mists rise from off the nether grounds, And the sun mounts apace. To arms, to arms! I am resolved to put to the utmost proof The fate of Troy this day.

_Andr._ [_Aside._] Oh wretched woman, oh!

_Hect._ Methought I heard you sigh, Andromache.

_Andr._ Did you, my lord?

_Hect._ Did you, my lord? you answer indirectly; Just when I said, that I would put our fate Upon the extremest proof, you fetched a groan; And, as you checked yourself for what you did, You stifled it and stopt. Come, you are sad.

_Andr._ The gods forbid!

_Hect._ What should the gods forbid?

_Andr._ That I should give you cause of just offence.

_Hect._ You say well; but you look not chearfully. I mean this day to waste the stock of war, And lay it prodigally out in blows. Come, gird my sword, and smile upon me, love; Like victory, come flying to my arms, And give me earnest of desired success.

_Andr._ The gods protect you, and restore you to me!

_Hect._ What, grown a coward! Thou wert used, Andromache, To give my courage courage; thou would'st cry,-- Go Hector, day grows old, and part of fame Is ravished from thee by thy slothful stay.

_Andr._ [_Aside._] What shall I do to seem the same I was?-- Come, let me gird thy fortune to thy side, And conquest sit as close and sure as this. [_She goes to gird his sword, and it falls._ Now mercy, heaven! the gods avert this omen!

_Hect._ A foolish omen! take it up again, And mend thy error.

_Andr._ I cannot, for my hand obeys me not; But, as in slumbers, when we fain would run From our imagined fears, our idle feet Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward; So now, when I would force myself to chear you, My faltering tongue can give no glad presage: Alas, I am no more Andromache.

_Hect._ Why then thy former soul is flown to me; For I, methinks, am lifted into air, As if my mind, mastering my mortal part, Would bear my exalted body to the gods. Last night I dreamt Jove sat on Ida's top, And, beckoning with his hand divine from far, He pointed to a choir of demi-gods, Bacchus and Hercules, and all the rest, Who, free from human toils, had gained the pitch Of blest eternity;--Lo there, he said, Lo there's a place for Hector.

_Andr._ Be to thy enemies this boding dream!

_Hect._ Why, it portends me honour and renown.

_Andr._ Such honour as the brave gain after death; For I have dreamt all night of horrid slaughters, Of trampling horses, and of chariot wheels Wading in blood up to their axle-trees; Of fiery demons gliding down the skies, And Ilium brightened with a midnight blaze: O therefore, if thou lovest me, go not forth.

_Hect._ Go to thy bed again, and there dream better.-- Ho! bid my trumpet sound.

_Andr._ No notes of sally, for the heaven's sweet sake! 'Tis not for nothing when my spirits droop; This is a day when thy ill stars are strong, When they have driven thy helpless genius down The steep of heaven, to some obscure retreat.

_Hect._ No more; even as thou lovest my fame, no more; My honour stands engaged to meet Achilles. What will the Grecians think, or what will he, Or what will Troy, or what wilt thou thyself, When once this ague fit of fear is o'er, If I should lose my honour for a dream?

_Andr._ Your enemies too well your courage know, And heaven abhors the forfeit of rash vows, Like spotted livers in a sacrifice. I cannot, O I dare not let you go; For, when you leave me, my presaging mind Says, I shall never, never see you more.

_Hect._ Thou excellently good, but oh too soft, Let me not 'scape the danger of this day; But I have struggling in my manly soul, To see those modest tears, ashamed to fall, And witness any part of woman in thee! And now I fear, lest thou shouldst think it fear, If, thus dissuaded, I refuse to fight, And stay inglorious in thy arms at home.

_Andr._ Oh, could I have that thought, I should not love thee; Thy soul is proof to all things but to kindness; And therefore 'twas that I forbore to tell thee, How mad Cassandra, full of prophecy, Ran round the streets, and, like a Bacchanal, Cried,--Hold him, Priam, 'tis an ominous day; Let him not go, for Hector is no more.

_Hect._ Our life is short, but to extend that span To vast eternity, is virtue's work; Therefore to thee, and not to fear of fate, Which once must come to all, give I this day. But see thou move no more the like request; For rest assured, that, to regain this hour, To-morrow will I tempt a double danger. Mean time, let destiny attend thy leisure; I reckon this one day a blank of life.

_Enter_ TROILUS.

_Troil._ Where are you, brother? now, in honour's name, What do you mean to be thus long unarmed? The embattled soldiers throng about the gates; The matrons to the turrets' tops ascend, Holding their helpless children in their arms, To make you early known to their young eyes, And Hector is the universal shout.

_Hect._ Bid all unarm; I will not fight to-day.

_Troil._ Employ some coward to bear back this news, And let the children hoot him for his pains. By all the gods, and by my just revenge, This sun shall shine the last for them or us; These noisy streets, or yonder echoing plains, Shall be to-morrow silent as the grave.

_Andr._ O brother, do not urge a brother's fate, But, let this wreck of heaven and earth roll o'er, And, when the storm is past, put out to sea.

_Troil._ O now I know from whence his change proceeds; Some frantic augur has observed the skies; Some victim wants a heart, or crow flies wrong. By heaven, 'twas never well, since saucy priests Grew to be masters of the listening herd, And into mitres cleft the regal crown; Then, as the earth were scanty for their power, They drew the pomp of heaven to wait on them. Shall I go publish, Hector dares not fight, Because a madman dreamt he talked with Jove? What could the god see in a brain-sick priest, That he should sooner talk to him than me?

_Hect._ You know my name's not liable to fear.

_Troil._ Yes, to the worst of fear,--to superstition. But whether that, or fondness of a wife, (The more unpardonable ill) has seized you, Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles, And that Polyxena has begged your life.

_Hect._ How! that my life is begged, and by my sister?

_Troil._ Ulysses so informed me at our parting, With a malicious and disdainful smile: 'Tis true, he said not, in broad words, you feared; But in well-mannered terms 'twas so agreed, Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector.

_Hect._ He thinks my sister's treason my petition; That, largely vaunting, in my heat of blood, More than I could, it seems, or durst perform, I sought evasion.

_Troil._ And in private prayed--

_Hect._ O yes, Polyxena to beg my life.

_Andr._ He cannot think so;--do not urge him thus.

_Hect._ Not urge me! then thou think'st I need his urging. By all the gods, should Jove himself descend, And tell me,--Hector, thou deservest not life, But take it as a boon,--I would not live. But that a mortal man, and he, of all men, Should think my life were in his power to give, I will not rest, till, prostrate on the ground, I make him, atheist-like, implore his breath Of me, and not of heaven.

_Troil._ Then you'll refuse no more to fight?

_Hect._ Refuse! I'll not be hindered, brother. I'll through and through them, even their hindmost ranks, Till I have found that large-sized boasting fool, Who dares presume my life is in his gift.

_Andr._ Farewell, farewell; 'tis vain to strive with fate! Cassandra's raging god inspires my breast With truths that must be told, and not believed. Look how he dies! look how his eyes turn pale! Look how his blood bursts out at many vents! Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out, And widowed I fill all the streets with screams! Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, Like antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps! And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! Oh Hector! [_Exit._

_Hect._ What sport will be, when we return at evening, To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams!

_Troil._ I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this night; But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains, And, when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss! I shall turn basilisk, and with my sight Do my hands' work on Diomede this day.

_Hect._ To arms, to arms! the vanguards are engaged Let us not leave one man to guard the walls; Both old and young, the coward and the brave, Be summoned all, our utmost fate to try, And as one body move, whose soul am I. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II--_The Camp._

_Alarm within. Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, MENELAUS, _Soldiers._

_Agam._ Thus far the promise of the day is fair. Æneas rather loses ground than gains. I saw him over-laboured, taking breath, And leaning on his spear, behold our trenches, Like a fierce lion looking up to toils, Which yet he durst not leap.

_Ulys._ And therefore distant death does all the work; The flights of whistling darts make brown the sky, Whose clashing points strike fire, and gild the dusk; Those, that reach home, from neither host are vain, So thick the prease; so lusty are their arms, That death seemed never sent with better will. Nor was with less concernment entertained.

_Enter_ NESTOR.

_Agam._ Now, Nestor, what's the news?

_Nest._ I have descried A cloud of dust, that mounts in pillars upwards, Expanding as it travels to our camp; And from the midst I heard a bursting shout, That rent the heaven; as if all Troy were swarmed. And on the wing this way.

_Menel._ Let them come, let them come.

_Agam._ Where's great Achilles?

_Ulys._ Think not on Achilles, Till Hector drag him from his tent to fight; Which sure he will, for I have laid the train.

_Nest._ But young Patroclus leads his Myrmidons, And in their front, even in the face of Hector, Resolves to dare the Trojans.

_Agam._ Haste, Ulysses, bid Ajax issue forth and second him.

_Ulys._ Oh noble general, let it not be so. Oppose not rage, while rage is in its force, But give it way awhile, and let it waste. The rising deluge is not stopt with dams; Those it o'erbears, and drowns the hopes of harvest; But, wisely managed, its divided strength Is sluiced in channels, and securely drained. First, let small parties dally with their fury; But when their force is spent and unsupplied, The residue with mounds may be restrained, And dry-shod we may pass the naked ford.

_Enter_ THERSITES.

_Thers._ Ho, ho, ho!

_Menel._ Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool?

_Thers._ Why, thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou thinkest he makes horns at thee? Thou prince of the herd, what hast thou to do with laughing? 'Tis the prerogative of a man, to laugh. Thou risibility without reason, thou subject of laughter, thou fool royal!

_Ulys._ But tell us the occasion of thy mirth?

_Thers._ Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own kind.--Why, the enemies are broken into our trenches; fools like Menelaus fall by thousands yet not a human soul departs on either side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off, but are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon, and Hector Patroclus, so there is a towardly springing fop gone off; he might have made a prince one day, but now he's nipt in the very bud and promise of a most prodigious coxcomb.

_Agam._ Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles; Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid. The alarm sounds near, and shouts are driven upon us, As of a crowd confused in their retreat.

_Ulys._ Open your ranks, and make these madmen way, Then close again to charge upon their backs, And quite consume the relics of the war. [_Exeunt all but_ THERSITES.

_Thers._ What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away! How it purges families of younger brothers, highways of robbers, and cities of cuckold-makers! There is nothing like a pitched battle for these brisk addle-heads! Your physician is a pretty fellow, but his fees make him tedious, he rides not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker remedy, but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men and rogues together. But your battle has discretion; it picks out all the forward fools, and sowses them together into immortality. [_Shouts and alarms within_] Plague upon these drums and trumpets! these sharp sauces of the war, to get fools an appetite to fighting! What do I among them? I shall be mistaken for some valiant ass, and die a martyr in a wrong religion. [_Here Grecians fly over the stage pursued by Trojans; one Trojan turns back upon_ THERSITES _who is flying too._

_Troj._ Turn, slave, and fight.

_Thers._ [_turning._] What art thou?

_Troj._ A bastard son of Priam's.

_Thers._ I am a bastard too, I love bastards, I am bastard in body, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. A bear will not fasten upon a bear; why should one bastard offend another! Let us part fair, like true sons of whores, and have the fear of our mothers before our eyes.

_Troj._ The devil take thee, coward. [_Exit Troj._

_Thers._ Now, would I were either invisible or invulnerable! These gods have a fine time on it; they can see and make mischief, and never feel it. [_Clattering of swords at both doors; he runs each way, and meets the noise._ A pox clatter you! I am compassed in. Now would I were that blockhead Ajax for a minute. Some sturdy Trojan will poach me up with a long pole! and then the rogues may kill one another at free cost, and have nobody left to laugh at them. Now destruction! now destruction!

_Enter_ HECTOR _and_ TROILUS _driving in the Greeks._

_Hect._ to _Thers._ Speak what part thou fightest on!

_Thers._ I fight not at all; I am for neither side.

_Hect._ Thou art a Greek; art thou a match for Hector? Art thou of blood and honour?

_Thers._ No, I am a rascal, a scurvy railing knave, a very filthy rogue.

_Hect._ I do believe thee; live.

_Thers._ God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but the devil break thy neck for frighting me. [_Aside._

_Troil._ (_returning._) What prisoner have you there?

_Hect._ A gleaning of the war; a rogue, he says.

_Troil._ Dispatch him, and away. [_Going to kill him._

_Thers._ Hold, hold!--what, is it no more but dispatch a man and away! I am in no such haste: I will not die for Greece; I hate Greece, and by my good will would never have been born there; I was mistaken into that country, and betrayed by my parents to be born there. And besides, I have a mortal enemy among the Grecians, one Diomede, a damned villain, and cannot die with a safe conscience till I have first murdered him.

_Troil._ Shew me that Diomede, and thou shalt live.

_Thers._ Come along with me, and I will conduct thee to Calchas's tent, where I believe he is now, making war with the priest's daughter.

_Hect._ Here we must part, our destinies divide us; Brother and friend, farewell.

_Troil._ When shall we meet?

_Hect._ When the gods please; if not, we once must part. Look; on yon hill their squandered troops unite.

_Troil._ If I mistake not, 'tis their last reserve: The storm's blown o'er, and those but after-drops.

_Hect._ I wish our men be not too far engaged; For few we are and spent, as having born The burthen of the day: But, hap what can, They shall be charged; Achilles must be there, And him I seek, or death. Divide our troops, and take the fresher half.

_Troil._ O brother!

_Hect._ No dispute of ceremony: These are enow for me, in faith enow. Their bodies shall not flag while I can lead; Nor wearied limbs confess mortality, Before those ants, that blacken all yon hill, Are crept into the earth. Farewell. [_Exit_ HECT.

_Troil._ Farewell.--Come, Greek.

_Thers._ Now these rival rogues will clapperclaw one another, and I shall have the sport of it. [_Exit_ TROIL. _with_ THERS.

_Enter_ ACHILLES _and Myrmidons._

_Achill._ Which way went Hector?

_Myrmid._ Up yon sandy hill; You may discern them by their smoking track: A wavering body working with bent hams Against the rising, spent with painful march, And by loose footing cast on heaps together.

_Achil._ O thou art gone, thou sweetest, best of friends! Why did I let thee tempt the shock of war, Ere yet the tender nerves had strung thy limbs, And knotted into strength! Yet, though too late, I will, I will revenge thee, my Patroclus! Nor shall thy ghost thy murderers long attend, But thou shalt hear him calling Charon back, Ere thou art wafted to the farther shore.-- Make haste, my soldiers; give me this day's pains For my dead friend: strike every hand with mine, Till Hector breathless on the ground we lay! Revenge is honour, the securest way. [_Exit with Myrm._

_Enter_ THERSITES, TROILUS, _Trojans._

_Thers._ That's Calchas's tent.

_Troil._ Then, that one spot of earth contains more falsehood, Than all the sun sees in his race beside. That I should trust the daughter of a priest! Priesthood, that makes a merchandise of heaven! Priesthood, that sells even to their prayers and blessings And forces us to pay for our own cozenage!

_Thers._ Nay, cheats heaven too with entrails and with offals; Gives it the garbage of a sacrifice, And keeps the best for private luxury.

_Troil._ Thou hast deserved thy life for cursing priests. Let me embrace thee; thou art beautiful: That back, that nose, those eyes are beautiful: Live; thou art honest, for thou hat'st a priest.

_Thers._ [_Aside._] Farewell, Trojan; if I escape with life, as I hope, and thou art knocked on the head, as I hope too, I shall be the first that ever escaped the revenge of a priest after cursing him; and thou wilt not be the last, I prophesy, that a priest will bring to ruin. [_Exit_ THER.

_Troil._ Methinks, my soul is roused to her last work; Has much to do, and little time to spare. She starts within me, like a traveller, Who sluggishly outslept his morning hour, And mends his pace to reach his inn betimes. [_Noise within,_ Follow, follow! A noise of arms! the traitor may be there; Or else, perhaps, that conscious scene of love, The tent, may hold him; yet I dare not search, For oh, I fear to find him in that place. [_Exit_ TROILUS.

_Enter_ CALCHAS _and_ CRESSIDA.

_Cres._ Where is he? I'll be justified, or die.

_Calch._ So quickly vanished! he was here but now. He must be gone to search for Diomede; For Diomede told me, here they were to fight.

_Cres._ Alas!

_Calch._ You must prevent, and not complain.

_Cres._ If Troilus die, I have no share in life.

_Calch._ If Diomede sink beneath the sword of Troilus We lose not only a protector here, But are debarred all future means of flight.

_Cres._ What then remains?

_Calch._ To interpose betimes Betwixt their swords; or, if that cannot be, To intercede for him, who shall be vanquished. Fate leaves no middle course. [_Exit_ CALCHAS.

_Clashing within._

_Cres._ Ah me! I hear them, And fear 'tis past prevention.

_Enter_ DIOMEDE, _retiring before_ TROILUS, _and falling as he
enters._

_Troil._ Now beg thy life, or die.

_Diom._ No; use thy fortune: I loath the life, which thou canst give, or take.

_Troil._ Scorn'st thou my mercy, villain!--Take thy wish.--

_Cres._ Hold, hold your hand, my lord, and hear me speak.
[TROILUS _turns back; in which time_ DIOMEDE _rises,
Trojans and Greeks enter, and rank themselves on
both sides of their Captains._

_Troil._ Did I not hear the voice of perjured Cressida? Com'st thou to give the last stab to my heart? As if the proofs of all thy former falsehood Were not enough convincing, com'st thou now To beg my rival's life? Whom, oh, if any spark of truth remained, Thou couldst not thus, even to my face, prefer.

_Cres._ What shall I say!--that you suspect me false, Has struck me dumb! but let him live, my Troilus; By all our loves, by all our past endearments, I do adjure thee, spare him.

_Troil._ Hell and death!

_Cres._ If ever I had power to bend your mind, Believe me still your faithful Cressida; And though my innocence appear like guilt, Because I make his forfeit life my suit, 'Tis but for this, that my return to you Would be cut off for ever by his death; My father, treated like a slave, and scorned; Myself in hated bonds a captive held.

_Troil._ Could I believe thee, could I think thee true, In triumph would I bear thee back to Troy, Though Greece could rally all her shattered troops, And stand embattled to oppose my way. But, oh, thou syren, I will stop my ears To thy enchanting notes; the winds shall bear Upon their wings thy words, more light than they.

_Cres._ Alas! I but dissembled love to him. If ever he had any proof, beyond What modesty might give--

_Diom._ No! witness this.-- [_The Ring shewn._ There, take her, Trojan, thou deserv'st her best; You good, kind-natured, well-believing fools, Are treasures to a woman. I was a jealous, hard, vexatious lover, And doubted even this pledge,--till full possession; But she was honourable to her word, And I have no just reason to complain.

_Cres._ O unexampled, frontless impudence!

_Troil._ Hell, show me such another tortured wretch as Troilus!

_Diom._ Nay, grieve not; I resign her freely up; I'm satisfied; and dare engage for Cressida, That, if you have a promise of her person, She shall be willing to come out of debt.

_Cres._ [_Kneeling._] My only lord, by all those holy vows, Which, if there be a Power above, are binding, Or, if there be a hell below, are fearful, May every imprecation, which your rage Can wish on me, take place, if I am false!

_Diom._ Nay, since you're so concerned to be believed, I'm sorry I have pressed my charge so far: Be what you would be thought; I can be grateful.

_Troil._ Grateful! Oh torment! now hell's bluest flames Receive her quick, with all her crimes upon her! Let her sink spotted down! let the dark host Make room, and point, and hiss her as she goes! Let the most branded ghosts of all her sex Rejoice, and cry,--"Here comes a blacker fiend!" Let her--

_Cres._ Enough, my lord; you've said enough. This faithless, perjured, hated Cressida, Shall be no more the subject of your curses: Some few hours hence, and grief had done your work; But then your eyes had missed the satisfaction, Which thus I give you,--thus-- [_She stabs herself; they both run to her._

_Diom._ Help! save her, help!

_Cres._ Stand off, and touch me not, thou traitor Diomede;-- But you, my only Troilus, come near: Trust me, the wound, which I have given this breast, Is far less painful than the wound you gave it. Oh, can you yet believe, that I am true?

_Troil._ This were too much, even if thou hadst been false! But oh, thou purest, whitest innocence,-- For such I know thee now, too late I know it!-- May all my curses, and ten thousand more, Heavier than they, fall back upon my head; Pelion and Ossa, from the giants' graves Be torn by some avenging deity, And hurled at me, a bolder wretch than they, Who durst invade the skies!

_Cres._ Hear him not, heavens; But hear me bless him with my latest breath! And, since I question not your hard decree, That doomed my days unfortunate and few, Add all to him you take away from me; And I die happy, that he thinks me true. [_Dies._

_Troil._ She's gone for ever, and she blest me dying! Could she have cursed me worse! she died for me, And, like a woman, I lament for her. Distraction pulls me several ways at once: Here pity calls me to weep out my eyes, Despair then turns me back upon myself, And bids me seek no more, but finish here. [_Points his Sword to his Breast._ Ha, smilest thou, traitor! thou instruct'st me best, And turn'st my just revenge to punish thee.

_Diom._ Thy worst, for mine has been beforehand with thee; I triumph in thy vain credulity, Which levels thy despairing state to mine; But yet thy folly, to believe a foe, Makes thine the sharper and more shameful loss.

_Troil._ By my few moments of remaining life,
I did not hope for any future joy;
But thou hast given me pleasure ere I die,
To punish such a villain.--Fight apart; [_To his Soldiers._
For heaven and hell have marked him out for me,
And I should grudge even his least drop of blood
To any other hand. [TROILUS _and_ DIOMEDE _fight, and both Parties
engage at the same time. The Trojans make
the Greeks retire, and_ TROILUS _makes_ DIOMEDE
_give ground, and hurts him. Trumpets
sound._ ACHILLES _enters with his Myrmidons,
on the backs of the Trojans, who fight in a
ring, encompassed round._ TROILUS, _singling_
DIOMEDE, _gets him down, and kills him; and_
ACHILLES _kills_ TROILUS _upon him. All the
Trojans die upon the place,_ TROILUS _last._

_Enter_ AGAMEMNON, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, AJAX, _and
Attendants._

_Achil._ Our toils are done, and those aspiring walls, The work of gods, and almost mating heaven, Must crumble into rubbish on the plain.

_Agam._ When mighty Hector fell beneath thy sword, Their old foundations shook; their nodding towers Threatened from high the amazed inhabitants; And guardian-gods, for fear, forsook their fanes.

_Achil._ Patroclus, now be quiet; Hector's dead; And, as a second offering to thy ghost, Lies Troilus high upon a heap of slain; And noble Diomede beneath, whose death This hand of mine revenged.

_Ajax._ Revenged it basely: For Troilus fell by multitudes opprest, And so fell Hector; but 'tis vain to talk.

_Ulys._ Hail, Agamemnon! truly victor now! While secret envy, and while open pride, Among thy factious nobles discord threw; While public good was urged for private ends, And those thought patriots, who disturbed it most; Then, like the headstrong horses of the sun, That light, which should have cheered the world, consumed it: Now peaceful order has resumed the reins, Old Time looks young, and Nature seems renewed. Then, since from home-bred factions ruin springs, Let subjects learn obedience to their kings. [_Exeunt._