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Baft. The devil take thee, coward. (Exeunt.
breath: Reit, sword, thou hast thy fill of blood and death.
Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons.
(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. March hastily along; let one be sent
Achilles see us at our Tent.
Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Troi. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail
Æne. My Lord, you do discomfort all the Hoft.
Troi. You understand me not, that tell me fo:
[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,
out, weep out at Pandar's Fall; Or if you cannot weep, yet give forne groans, Though not for me, yet
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.
The End of the Seventh Volume.