Act V. Scene
VIII.
Scene VIII.—Another Part of the Plains.
Enter HECTOR.
Hect. Most putrefied 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.
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
I seek. [HECTOR falls.
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 retreat upon our Grecian part.
Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like,
my lord.
Achil. The dragon wing of night overspreads
the earth,:
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have
fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.—
[Sheathes his sword.
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.
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