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Baft. The devil take thee, coward. (Exeunt.

Enter Hector.
Heet. Most putrified core, so fair without !
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take my

breath: Reit, sword, thou hast thy fill of blood and death.

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

(They fall upon Hector, and kill him, Heet. I am unarm’d, forego this vantage,

Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike, this is the man I seek. So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, fink down: Here lies thy heart, thy sinews and thy bone. On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain, Achilles hath the mighty He&tor flain. Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.

Myr. The Trojan trumpets found the like, my Lord. Achil

. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth; And, stickler-like, the armies separates. My half-supt fword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. Come, tie his body to my horse's tail : Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.

[Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes,

and i he rejt marching. Aga. Hark, hark, what fhout is that? Neft. Peace, drums. sol. Achilles ! Achilles ! Hector's slain! Achilles ! Dio. The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.

Ajax. If it is so, yet bragless let it it be: Great Hector was as good a man as he.

Aga.

Aga. March hastily along; let one be sent
To
pray

Achilles see us at our Tent.
If in his death the Gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [Exe.

Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Æne. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field;
Never
go home, here starve we out the night.

Enter Troilus.
Troi. Hector is Nain.
All. Hector!- -the Gods forbid !

Troi. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail
In beastly fort dragg'd through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with speed;
Sit, Gods, upon your Thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once, let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on.

Æne. My Lord, you do discomfort all the Hoft.

Troi. You understand me not, that tell me fo:
I do not speak of fight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence, that Gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam for or Hecuba??
Let him, that will a scrietch-owl ay be calld,
Go into Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold ftatues of the youth ; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself. But march away,
Hestor is dead: there is no more to say.
Stay yet, you vile abominable Tents,
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains :
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd

coward!
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates ;
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth Goblins fwift as Frenzy's thoughts.
Strike a free March Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.

Enter

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Enter Pandarus.
Pan. But hear you, hear you?
Troi. Hence, brothel-lacquey; ignominy, shame

[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 set at work, and how ill requited ? why should our endeavour be fo lovd, and the performance fo loath'd ? what verse for it? what instance for it? let me fee Full merrily the humble-bee doth fing, 'Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; But being once subdu'd in armed tail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, set 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 forne groans, Though not for me, yet

for

your aking bones. Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here be made : It should be now; but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hifs : 'Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases ; And at that time bequeath you my diseases. [Exit.

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The End of the Seventh Volume.

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