What's past and what's to come is ftrew'd with husks
And formlefs ruin of Oblivion.

But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee with most divine integrity,

From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
Heat. I thank thee, moft imperious Agamemnon.
Aga. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.
[To Troilus.
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's Greeting,
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
Hect. Whom must we answer ?

Ene. The noble Menelaus.

He. O-you, my lord-by Mars his gauntlet, thanks. Mock not. that I affect th' untraded oath

Your quondam wife fwears ftill by Venus' glove;
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.
Men. Name her not now, Sir, fhe's a deadly theme.
Het. O, pardon I offend.

Neft. I have, thou gallant Trojan, feen thee oft,
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greekifh youth; and I have feen thee,

As hot as Perfeus, fpur thy Phrygian steed,

Bravely defpifing forfeits and fubduements,

When thou haft hung thy advanc'd sword i'th' air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd:

That I have faid unto my ftanders-by,.
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!

And I have feen thee paufe, and take thy breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This I've feen:
But this thy countenance, ftill lock'd in steel,
I never faw 'till now. I knew thy Grandfire,
And once fought with him; he was a foldier good;
But by great Mars, the Captain of us all,

Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee,
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
Ene. 'Tis the oid Neftor.

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
That haft fo long walk'd hand in hand with time:
Most reverend Neftor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Neft

Neft. I would, my arms could match thee in contention, As they contend with thee in courtefie.

Heat. I would, they could.

Neft. By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to morrow. Well, welcome, welcome; I have feen the timeUly. I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here the base and pillar by us. Het. I know your favour, lord Ulyffes, well. Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I faw your felf and Diomede

In Ilion, on your Greekish embaffie.

Ulys. Sir, I foretold you then what would enfue :
My prophefie is but half his journey yet;

For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do bufs the clouds,
Muft kifs their own feet.

Hest. I must not believe you:

There they ftand yet; and, modeftly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian ftone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood; the end crowns all. ;.
And that old common Arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.

Ulyf. So to him we leave it.

Moft gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my Tent.

Achil. I fhall foreftal thee, lord Ulyffes;
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hectar,
And quoted joint by joint.

Helt. Is this Achilles?

Achil. I am Achilles.

thou!

Hect. Stand fair, I pr'ythee, let me look on thee.
Achil. Behold thy fill.

Hect. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief. I will the fecond time,
As I would buy thee, view thee, limb by limb.
Hect. O, like a book of fport thou'lt read me o'er :
But there's more in me, than thou understand'ft.
Why doft thou fo oppress me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body

Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there,
That I may give the local wound a name ;
And make diftin&t the very breach, where-out
Hector's great fpirit flew. Anfwer me, heav'ns!
Het. It would difcredit the bleft Gods, proud man,
To answer fuch a queftion: ftand again.
Think'ft thou to catch my life fo pleasantly,
As to prenominate, in nice conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?
Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Heat. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me fo,
I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But, by the forge that fmithied Mars his helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.-
You wifeft Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His infolence draws folly from my lips;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never-

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, coufin ;

And you, Achilles, let thefe threats alone,
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,

If you have ftomach. The general State, I fear,

(24) But by the Forge that flythied Mars his helm,] So, again, in Hamlet ;

And my Imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's Stithy.

(24)

A Stitby, or Stith, fignifies an Anvil. So CHAUCER in his Knight's Tale.

-and the Smith

That fargith fharpé Swerdis on the Stith.

And the Word is ftill current in our Northern Counties. But, I own, I fufpe&t this not to have been our Author's Word, either in Hamlet or here. For, in the first Place, an Anvil is far from being the dirtieft thing in a Smith's Shop: and then the Forge, or Furnace, cannot be faid to anvil the Helmet. I have corrected;

But by the Forge that smithied Mars's helm.

A Smithy is the working Shop of a Smith; and to smithy, is, to perform the Work and Office of a Smith.

Can

Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.

Het. I pray you, let us fee you in the field:

We have had pelting wars fince you refus'd
The Grecians' cause.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector?
To morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
To night, all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece, go to my Tent,
There in the full convive you; afterwards,

As Hector's leisure and your bounties fhall
Concur together, feverally intreat him

To tafte your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt.
Manent Troilus and Ulyffes.

Troi. My lord Ulyffes, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Ulyf. At Menelaus' Tent, moft princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feaft with him to night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view
On the fair Creffid.

Troi. Shall I, fweet lord, be bound to thee fo much, After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,

To bring me thither ?

Ulyf. You fhall command me, Sir:

As gently tell me, of what honour was
This Creida in Troy; had the no lover there,

That wails her abfence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boasting fhew their fears, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth:

But, ftill, fweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.

A CT

SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.

I

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

ACHILLES.

'LL heat his blood with Greekish wine to night,
Which with my fcimitar I'll cool to morrow.
Patroclus, let us feaft him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites.

Achi. How now, thou core of envy? (25)
Thou crufty both of Nature, what's the news?
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou feem'ft, and
idol of ideot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee.
Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Patr. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well faid, adverfity; and what need these tricks? Ther. Pr'ythee, be filent, boy, I profit not by thy talk; thou art thought to be Achilles's male-varlet.

Patr. Male-varlet, you rogue? what's that?

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of

(25) How now, thou core of Envy?

Thou crafty batch of Nature,] Thus all the printed Copies: but what is a crusty batch of Nature? We must certainly read, Botch; i. e. Scab, Sore, &c. So, before, in the Beginning

of the 2d A&t.

And thofe Boils did runyun, were not that a botchy Core.

-Say Soz

Did not the General

impofte