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Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.

Achil. Why, but he's not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings*

on.

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable+ creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; And I myself see not the bottom of it.

[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ig

norance.

ACT IV.

LOVERS PARTING IN THE MORNING.

Tro. O CRESSIDA! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribal'd† crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee.

Cres.

Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights

she stays,

As tediously as hell; but flies the grasp of love, With wings more momentary swift than thought.

DIOMEDES'S MANNER OF WALKING.

"Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait; He rises on the toe: that spirit of his In aspiration lifts him from the earth.

* Lute-strings made of cat-gut. Lewd, noisy.

+ Intelligent.

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Injurious time now, with a robber's haste,
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how:
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath, and consign'd* kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu;

And scants us with a single famish'd kiss:
Distasted with the salt of broken† tears.

TROILUS'S CHARACTER OF THE GRECIAN YOUTHS.

The Grecian youths are full of quality +;

They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature And swelling o'er with arts and exercise; [flowing, How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy

(Which I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) Makes me afeard.

A TRUMPETER.

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe: Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek

Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon:

Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood; Thou blow'st for Hector.

* Sealed.

+ Interrupted.

Highly accomplished.

DESCRIPTION OF CRESSIDA.

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive* of her body. O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader! set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity,

And daughters of the game.

CHARACTER OF TROILUS.

The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; Speaking in deeds, and deedless† in his tongue; Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd, soon calm'd: His heart and hand both open, and both free; For what he has, he gives, what thinks, he shows; Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath: Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes § To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, Is more vindicate than jealous love.

HECTOR IN BATTLE.

I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way,

Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee,

As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Despising many forfeits and subduements,

When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd||;

That I have said to some my standers-by,

Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!

And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath,

* Motion. + No boaster. Unsuitable to his character. Fallen.

Yields, gives way.

When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling.

ACHILLES SURVEYING HECTOR.

Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him? whether there, there, or there? That I may give the local wound a name;

And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens!

ACT V.

RASH VOWS.

THE gods are deaf to hot and peevish* vows,
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

HONOUR MORE DEAR THAN LIFE.

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate: Life every man holds dear; but the dear man Holds honour far more precious-dear† than life.

PITY TO BE DISCARDED IN WAR.

For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords.

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his address to the corpse of Cæsar..... 270
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