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Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles;
let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting fool-
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to-
Ulyss. O, courage, courage, princes! great
Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.
Tro. Fly not; for, should'st thou take the river
Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian !-now for thy whore, Trojan!-now the sleeve, now the sleeve! [Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. Enter Hector.
Heet. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match?
Art thou of blood, and honour ?
Ther. No, no:-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.
Hect. I do believe thee;-live. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think, they have swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. [Exit. SCENE V-The same. Enter Diomedes and a Servant.
Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed,
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance:
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend,
Achil. Now do I see thee: Ha!-Have at thee,
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.
Achil. Louk, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the veil and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done. Hect. I am unarm'd: forego this vantage,5 Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. [Hector falls. [Exit. So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down; well-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
Hect. Pause, if thou wilt.
Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; Shall it be?
Enter one in sumptuous armour.
Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a
No? wilt thou not?-I like thy armour well;
Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.
Mar. Turn, slave, and fight.
Ther. What art thou?
[Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The same. Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons.
And, stickler like, the armies separates.
Agam. Hark! hark! what shout is that?
Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
and Paris, fighting: then Thersites.
Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-henned sparrow! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game:-'ware horns, bo! [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. Enter Margarelon.
Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. Ther. I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: Farewell, bastard.
Mar. The devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt. SCENE IX-Another part of the field. Enter Hector.
Hect. Most putrified 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.
(1) Prevail over. (2) Care. (3) Burst. (4) Employ. (5) Take not this advantage. An arbitrator at athletic games.
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth,
Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field: Never go home; here starve we out the night.
Tro. Hector is slain.
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.--
Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
Pan. But hear you, hear you!
Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomyl and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye2 with thy name!
[Exit Troilus. Pan. A goodly medicine for my aching bones!O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent despised! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a' work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so loved, and the performance so
loathed? what verse for it? what instance for it?Let me see :
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
This play is more correctly written than most of Shakspeare's compositions, but it is not one of those
in which either the extent of his views or elevation of his fancy is fully displayed. As the story abounded with materials, he has exerted little invention; but he has diversified his characters with great variety, and preserved them with great exactness. His vicious characters disgust, but cannot corrupt, for both Cressida and Pandarus are detested and contemned. The comic characters seem to have been the favourites the writer: they are the superficial kind, and exhibit more of manners, than nature; but they are copiously filled, and powerfully impressed. Shakspeare has in his story followed, for the greater part, the old book of Caxton, which was then very popular; but the character of Thersites, of which it makes no mention, is a proof
(3) Canvass hangings for rooms, painted with that this play was written after Chapman had pubemblems and mottoes.
lished his version of Homer.
As many as be here of panders' hall,
GOOD day, sir.
I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes world?
Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet. Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller. Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord! Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd,1 as it were,
To an untirable and continuate? goodness: He passes.3
Jew. I have a jewel here.
Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.
'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi
cation To the great lord. Poet.
A thing slipp'd idly from me.
(1) Inured by constant practice. (2) For continual.
Two servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isi-
mistresses to Alcibiades.
Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and Attendants.
Scene, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment,4 sir. Let's see your piece.
Poet. Admirable: How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good?
Poet. I'll say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife5 Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's follow'd! Poet. The senators of Athens:-Happy men! Pain. Look, more!
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
(4) As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.
(5) i. e. The contest of art with nature. (6) My design does not stop at any particular
(2) 2. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. character.
Leaving no track behind.
Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. You see how all conditions, how all minds (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer, 2
I'll unbolt! to you. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me :
To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod.
Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late (Some better than his value,) on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings4 in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink5 the free air.
Spurns down her late-belov'd, all his dependants, Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.
(1) Open, explain.
(2) One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron,
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
Tim. Attends he here, or no?-Lucilius!
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy creature,
By night frequents my house. I am a man
Well; what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain.
Tim. The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself, It must not bear my daughter.
Old Ath. She is young, and apt:
Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?
Does she love him?
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me long;
To build his fortune, I will strain a little,
Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you!
[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!
Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
(3) To advance their conditions of life. (4) Whisperings of officious servility. (5) Inhale. (6) i. e. Inferior spectator