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  • Title: Troilus and Cressida (Quarto 1, 1609)
  • Editor: William Godshalk
  • ISBN: 1-55058-301-8

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: William Godshalk
    Peer Reviewed

    Troilus and Cressida (Quarto 1, 1609)

    of Troylus and Cresseida.
    Nest. Peace drums.
    3525Sould: within. Achilles, Achilles, Hectors slaine Achilles.
    Dio. The bruite is Hectors slaine and by Achilles.
    Aiax. If it be so yet braglesse let it bee,
    Great Hector was as good a man as he.
    Aga. March patiently along: let one bee sent,
    3530To pray Achilles see vs at our tent:
    If in his death the Gods haue vs befriended.
    Great Troy is ours, and our sharpe wars are ended.
    Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor, Diephobus.
    3535Æne. Stand ho? yet are we masters of the field,
    Enter Troylus.
    Troy. Neuer goe home, here starue we out the night,
    Hector is slaine.
    All. Hector! the gods forbid.
    3540Troy. Hee's dead and at the murtherers horses taile,
    In bestly sort dragd through the shamefull field:
    Frowne on you heauens, effect your rage with speed,
    Sit gods vpon your thrones, and smile at Troy.
    I say at once, let your breefe plagues be mercy,
    3545And linger not our sure destructions on.
    Æne. My Lord you doe discomfort all the host.
    Troy. You vnderstand me not that tell me so,
    I do not speake of flight, of feare of death
    But dare all immynence that gods and men
    3550Addresse their daungers in. Hector is gone:
    Who shall tell Priam so or Hecuba?
    Let him that will a scrich-ould aye be call'd,
    Goe into Troy and say their Hectors dead,
    There is a word will Priam turne to stone,
    3555Make wells and Niobe's of the maides and wiues:
    Could statues of the youth and in a word,
    Scarre Troy out of it selfe, there is no more to say,
    Stay yet you proud abhominable tents:
    3560Thus proudly pitcht vpon our Phrigian plaines,
    Let Tytan rise as earely as he dare,
    Ile through, and through you, and thou great siz'd coward,
    No space of earth shall sunder our two hates: