HECT. Most putrified core, so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!

[Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield behind him. (3)

Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons. ACHIL. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:

Even with the vail and darking of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
HECT. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
ACHIL. Strike, fellows, strike! this is the man
[HECTOR falls.

I seek.

So, Ilion, fall thou next!* now, Troy, sink down! Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain, Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain !

[A retreat sounded.

Hark! a retire‡ upon our Grecian part.

(*) First folio omits, next.

(t) First folio omits, and

(1) First folio, retreat.

His promist favour for our truce, but (studying both our ils)
Will never ceas se till Mars, by you, his ravenous stomacke fils,
With ruin'd Troy; or we consume, your mightie Sea borne fleet.
Amongst you all, whose breast includes, the most impulsive mind,
Let him stand forth as combattant, by all the rest designde.
Before whom thus I call high Jove, to witnesse of our strife;
If he, with home-thrust iron can reach, th' exposure of my life,
(Spoiling my armes) let him at will, convey them to his tent;
But let my body be returnd; that Troys two-sext descent
May waste it in the funerall Pile; if I can slaughter him,
(Apollo honoring me so much) Ile spoile his conquerd lim,
And beare his armes to Ilion, where in Apollos shrine
Ile hang them, as my trophies due: his body Ile resigne
To be disposed by his friends, in flamie funerals,
And honourd with erected tombe, where Hellespontus fals
Into Egæum; and doth reach, even to your navall rode;
That when our beings, in the earth, shall hide their period;
Survivers, sailing the blacke sea, may thus his name renew:
This is his monument, whose bloud, long since, illustrate Hector

slew.

This shall posteritie report, and my fame never die."

(4) SCENE III.-Blockish Ajar.] From the subjoined description of the Ajaxes as portrayed by Lydgate, it would appear that Shakespeare, for dramatic effect, had purposely confounded Ajax Telamonius with Ajax Oileus :—

"Oileus Ayax was right corpulent,

To be well cladde he set al his entent
In rych aray he was ful curyous,
Although he were of body corsyous

Of armes great with shoulders square and brode;
It was of him almost a horse lode.
High of stature, and boystous in a pres,
And of his speche rude and rechles.
Ful many worde in ydel hym asterte,
And but a coward was he of his herte.

"An other Ayax Thelamonyous

There was also dyscrete and vertuous,
Wonder fayre and semely to beholde,
Whose heyr was black and vpward ay gan folde,
In compas wise rounde as any sphere,
And of musyke was there non his pere.
Having a voyce full of melodye,
Right well entuned as by Hermonye.
And was inventife for to counterfete,
Instrumentes aswell smal as grete,

In sundry wise longying to musyke.
And for all this yet had he good practicke
In armes eke, and was a noble knyght,
No man more orped nor hardyer for to fight.
Nor desyrous for to have vyctorye,
Devoyde of pompe, hatyng all vaynglorye,
All ydle laude spent and blowe in vayne."

"The auncient Historie and onely trewe and syncere Cronicle et the warres betwixt the Grecians and the Troyans," &c. fol. 1555. Book II. chap. 15.

(1) SCENE I.-THERSITES.] Hideous in person, impious and gross in speech, cowardly and vindictive by disposition, this remarkable character, by sheer intellectual vigour, seems to tower high above all the mere corporeal grace and strength by which he is surrounded; and the portrait is essentially Shakespeare's own creation, for the Thersites of Homer, on which we may suppose it founded, is nothing better than a vulgar, waspish railer, without a spark of wit or of intelligence to redeem his moral and physical obliquity:—

"All sate, and audience gave; Thersites onely would speake all. A most disorderd store

Of words, he foolishly powrd out; of which his mind held more Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure Laughter, he never could containe. He should have yet been

sure

To touch no kings. T'oppose their states, becomes not jesters parts.

But he, the filthiest fellow was, of all that had deserts

In Troyes brave siege: he was squint-eyd, and lame of either

foote:

So crooke backt, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoote

(Here and there sperst) thin mossie haire. He most of all envide Ulysses and acides, whom still his splene would chide; Nor could the sacred king himselfe, avoide his saucie vaine, Against whom, since he knew the Greekes, did vehement hates sustaine

(Being angrie for Achilles wrong) he cride out; railing thus: Atrides! why complainst thou now? what wouldst thou more of us?

Thy tents are full of brasse, and dames; the choice of all are thine:

With whom, we must present thee first, when any townes resigne To our invasion. Wantst thou then (besides all this) more gold From Troyes knights, to redeeme their sonnes? whom, to be dearely sold,

I, or some other Greeke, must take? or wouldst thou yet againe, Force from some other Lord his prise; to sooth the lusts that

By rape to ruine. O base Greekes, deserving infamie,

And ils eternall: Greekish girls, not Greekes, ye are; Come flie Home with our ships; leave this man here, to perish with his preys,

And trie if we helpt him, or not: he wrong'd a man that weys Farre more then he himselfe in worth: he forc't from Thetis

sonne

And keepes his prise still: nor think I, that mightie man hath

wonne

The stile of wrathfull worthily; he's soft, he's too remisse,
Or else Atrides, his had bene, thy last of injuries.'

Thus he the peoples Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him
Divine Ulysses; who with lookes, exceeding grave and grim,
This bitter checke gave: Ceasse, vaine foole, to vent thy railing
vaine

On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restraine,

With that thy railing facultie, their wils in least degree,
For not a worse, of all this hoast, came with our king then thee
To Troys great siege.""-The Iliads of Homer, &c. Done according
to the Greeke, by Geo. Chapman, &c. Book II.

(2) SCENE II.-Enter CASSANDRA, raving.] Of this circumstance, we find no hint either in Chapman's Homer or in Chaucer; it was probably taken, as Steevens conjectured, from a passage in Lydgate's "Auncient Historie," &c. 1555:

"This was the noise and the pyteous crye
Of Cassandra that so dredefully

She gan to make aboute in every strete
Through ye towne," &c.

(3) SCENE III.-The death-tokens of it.] "Dr. Hodges, in his "Treatise on the Plague," says:-" 'Spots of a dark complexion, usually called tokens, and looked on as the pledges or forewarnings of death, are minute and distinct blasts, which have their original from within, and rise up with a little pyramidal protuberance, the pestilential poison chiefly collected at their bases, tainting the neighbouring parts, and reaching to the surface.' -REID.

(1) SCENE II.-So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress.] The small bowl aimed at in the game of Bowling, it has before been mentioned, was occasionally termed the Mistress. See note (*), p. 722, Vol. II. Perhaps the best illustration of this popular amusement and its technical phraseology, as practised in our author's day, is that given in Quarles' Emblems" (Emb. 10, b. 1.):—'

"Here's your right ground; wag gently o'er this black :
'Tis a short cast; y' are quickly at the jack.
Rub, rub an inch or two; two crowns to one

On this bowl's side; blow wind, 't is fairly thrown:
The next bowl's worse that comes; come, bowl away:
Mammon, you know the ground, untutor'd play :
Your last was gone, a yard of strength well spar'd
Had touch'd the block; your hand is still too hard.
Brave pastime, readers, to consume that day,
Which, without pastime, flies too swift away!
See how they labour; as if day and night
Were both too short to serve their loose delight:
See how their curved bodies wreath, and screw
Such antic shapes as Proteus never knew:
One raps an oath, another deals a curse;

He never better bowl'd; this never worse:
One rubs his itchless elbow, shrugs and laughs,
The other bends his beetle brows and chafes:
Sometimes they whoop, sometimes their Stygian cries
Send their black Santo's to the blushing skies:
Thus mingling humours in a mad confusion,
They make bad premises, and worse conclusion:
But where's a palm that fortune's hand allows
To bless the victor's honourable brows?
Come, reader, come; I'll light thine eye the way
To view the prize, the while the gamesters play:
Close by the jack, behold, jill Fortune stands
To wave the game: see in her partial hands
The glorious garland's held in open show,

To cheer the lads, and crown the conqu'ror's brow.
The world's the jack; the gamesters that contend,
Are Cupid, Mammon: that judicious fiend,

That gives the ground, is Satan: and the bowls
Are sinful thoughts; the prize, a crown for fools.

Who breathes that bowls not? What bold tongue can say

Without a blush, he has not bowl'd to-day?

It is the trade of man, and ev'ry sinner

Has play'd his rubbers: every soul's a winner.

The vulgar proverb's crost, he hardly can

Be a good bowler and an honest man.

Good God! turn thou my Brazil thoughts anew;
New-sole my bowls, and make their bias true.
I'll cease to game, till fairer ground be given;
Nor wish to win, until the mark be Heav'n."

(2) SCENE II.-To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love.] Here, as in other passages where Troilus exhibits a presentiment of his lady's inconstancy, we can trace the influence of the "Troylus and Cryseyde:"

"But natheles, myn owene ladi bright!
Yit were it so that I wist utterly,

That I youre humble servaunt and your knyght
Were in youre herte yset so fermely,

As ye in myn, the whiche thing truly

Me lever were than this worldis tweyne,
Yit schulde I the better endure al my peyne."

And this:

"Ye shal ek seen so many a lusti knyght,
Amonge the Grekes, ful of worthynesse;
And ech of hem, with herte, wit, and myght,
To plesen yow don alle his bisynesse,

That ye shal dullen of the rudenesse

Of us sely Troians, but if routhe

Remorde you, or vertu of your trouthe."

The bowls were formerly made of what was called Brazil wood.

(3) SCENE II.-As false as Cressid.] The protestations of the fickle beauty in the old poem are not less confident; compare the following:

"To that Cryseyde answerid right anoone,

And with a sigh sche seide, 'O herte dere!
The game, ywis, so ferforthe now is gone,
That furste schal Phebus falle from his spere,
And hevene egle be as the douves fere,
And every rock out of his place sterte,
Er Troylus out of Cryseydis herte.'

And her declaration subsequently:-
"For thylke day that I for cherisynge,
Or diede of fader, or of other wight,
Or for estat, delit, or for weddynge,
Be fals to yow, my Troylus, my knygthe,
Saturnes doughter Juno, thorugh hyre myghte,
As wood as Athamante do me dwelle
Eternaliche, in Stix, the put of Helle!

"And this, on every god celestial

I swere it yow, and ek on ech goddesse,
On every nymphe, and deyte infernal,
On satiry and fawny more and lesse,
That halve goddes ben of wildernesse;
And Attropos my thred of life to-breste,
If I be fals! Now trowe me if yow leste."

(4) SCENE III.-Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.] This appeal of Calchas to the Greeks recals the corresponding circumstance in Chaucer:

"Then seyd he thus, Lo! lordis myn, I was

A Troyan, as it is knowe, out of drede;
And, if that yow remembre, I am Calcas,
That altherferst yaf comfort to your nede,
And tolde wele how ye sholdyn spede;
For, dredeles, thurgh you, shall, in a stound,
Ben Troy ybrent, and drewyn doun to ground.

"And in what forme, and yn what maner wise
This toun to shent, and al your lust acheve,
Ye have, or this, wele herd me yow devise:
This knowyn ye, my lordis, as I leve;
And, for the Grekys weryn me so leve;

I come my self, in my proper persone,
To teche yow what you was best to done.
"Havyng unto my tresour, ne my rent,
Right no regard in respect of your ese;
Thus al my good I lost, and to yow went,
Wenyng in this, my lordis, yow to plese;
But al my losse ne doth me no dissese,-
I vouchesaaf, al so wisely have I joy,
For yow to lese al that I had in Troy,-

"Save of a doghter that I left, alas!
Slepyng at home, whan out of toun I stert.
O sterne, O cruel fadir, that I was!
How myght I in that have so hard an hert?
Alas! that I ne had her broght in her shert!
For sorow of which I wole not lyve to-morow,
But if ye, lordis, wole ruwe on my sorow.
"For by that cause I sawe no tyme or now
Her to delivere, iche holden have my pees;
But now or nevere, if it likith you,

I may her have, for that is douteles:

O, help and grace! among all this pres,
Rewith on this old caytif in distresse,
Thurgh yow seth I am brought in wrecchidnes!

"Tellyng his tale alwey, this olde gray,
Humblely in his speche and loking eke,
The salte teris from his eyen tway,
Ful faste ronnen doun on either cheke;

So longe of mercy he gan hem byseke,
That, for to help hym of his sorowis sore,
They than gave hym Antenore without more."