SCENE I.--_Troy.

_Enter_ PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, _and_ ÆNEAS.

_Priam._ After the expence of so much time and blood, Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy;-- Deliver Helen, and all other loss Shall be forgotten.--Hector, what say you to it?

_Hect._ Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I, Yet there's no virgin of more tender heart, More ready to cry out,--who knows the consequence? Than Hector is; for modest doubt is mixed With manly courage best: let Helen go. If we have lost so many lives of ours, To keep a thing not ours, not worth to us The value of a man, what reason is there Still to retain the cause of so much ill?

_Troil._ Fye, fye, my noble brother! Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, So great as Asia's monarch, in a scale Of common ounces thus? Are fears and reasons fit to be considered, When a king's fame is questioned?

_Hect._ Brother, she's not worth What her defence has cost us.

_Troil._ What's aught, but as 'tis valued?

_Hect._ But value dwells not in opinion only: It holds the dignity and estimation, As well, wherein 'tis precious of itself, As in the prizer: 'tis idolatry, To make the service greater than the god.

_Troil._ We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, When we have worn them; the remaining food Throw not away, because we now are full. If you confess, 'twas wisdom Paris went;-- As you must needs, for you all cried, _Go, go:--_ If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize;-- As you must needs, for you all clapped your hands, And cried, _Inestimable!_--Why do you now So under-rate the value of your purchase? For, let me tell you, 'tis unmanly theft, When we have taken what we fear to keep.

_Æne._ There's not the meanest spirit in our party, Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, When Helen is defended: None so noble, Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfamed, When Helen is the subject.

_Priam._ So says Paris, Like one besotted on effeminate joys; He has the honey still, but these the gall.

_Æne._ He not proposes merely to himself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; But he would have the stain of Helen's rape Wiped off, in honourable keeping her.

_Hect._ Troilus and Æneas, you have said; If saying superficial things be reason. But if this Helen be another's wife, The moral laws of nature and of nations Speak loud she be restored. Thus to persist In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong, But makes it much more so. Hector's opinion Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless, My sprightly brother, I incline to you In resolution to defend her still: For 'tis a cause on which our Trojan honour And common reputation will depend.

_Troil._ Why there you touched the life of our design: Were it not glory that we covet more Than war and vengeance, (beasts' and women's pleasure) I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood Spent more in her defence; but oh! my brother, She is a subject of renown and honour; And I presume brave Hector would not lose The rich advantage of his future fame For the wide world's revenue:--I have business; But glad I am to leave you thus resolved. When such arms strike, ne'er doubt of the success.

_Æn._ May we not guess?

_Troil._ You may, and be deceived. [_Exit_ TROIL.

_Hect._ A woman, on my life: even so it happens, Religion, state-affairs, whate'er's the theme, It ends in woman still.

_Enter_ ANDROMACHE.

_Priam._ See, here's your wife, To make that maxim good.

_Hect._ Welcome, Andromache: your looks are chearful, You bring some pleasing news.

_Andro._ Nothing that's serious. Your little son Astyanax has employed me As his ambassadress.

_Hect._ Upon what errand?

_Andro._ No less than that his grandfather this day Would make him knight: he longs to kill a Grecian: For should he stay to be a man, he thinks You'll kill them all; and leave no work for him.

_Priam._ Your own blood, Hector.

_Andro._ And therefore he designs to send a challenge To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles, To prove they do not well to burn our fields, And keep us cooped like prisoners in a town, To lead this lazy life.

_Hect._ What sparks of honour Fly from this child! the gods speak in him sure: --It shall be so--I'll do't.

_Priam._ What means my son?

_Hect._ To send a challenge to the boldest Greek. Is not that country ours? those fruitful fields Washed by yon silver flood, are they not ours? Those teeming vines that tempt our longing eyes, Shall we behold them? shall we call them ours, And dare not make them so? by heavens I'll know Which of these haughty Grecians dares to think He can keep Hector prisoner here in Troy.

_Priam._ If Hector only were a private man, This would be courage; but in him 'tis madness. The general safety on your life depends; And, should you perish in this rash attempt, Troy with a groan would feel her soul go out, And breathe her last in you.

_Æn._ The task you undertake is hazardous: Suppose you win, what would the profit be? If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath Your thundering arm, would all the rest depart? Would Agamemnon, or his injured brother, Set sail for this? then it were worth your danger. But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake Against whole heaps of theirs.

_Priam._ He tells you true.

_Æn._ Suppose one Ajax, or Achilles lost, They can repair with more that single loss: Troy has but one, one Hector.

_Hect._ No, Æneas! What then art thou; and what is Troilus? What will Astyanax be?

_Priam._ An Hector one day, But you must let him live to be a Hector; And who shall make him such, when you are gone? Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms, Or give his childhood lessons of the war? Who shall defend the promise of his youth, And make it bear in manhood? the young sapling Is shrouded long beneath the mother-tree, Before it be transplanted from its earth, And trust itself for growth.

_Hect._ Alas, my father! You have not drawn one reason from yourself, But public safety, and my son's green years: In this neglecting that main argument, Trust me you chide my filial piety; As if I could be won from my resolves By Troy, or by my son, or any name More dear to me than yours.

_Priam._ I did not name myself, because I know When thou art gone, I need no Grecian sword To help me die, but only Hector's loss.-- Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent? Have you no right in Hector, as a wife?

_Andro._ I would be worthy to be Hector's wife: And had I been a man, as my soul's one, I had aspired a nobler name,--his friend. How I love Hector,--need I say I love him?-- I am not but in him: But when I see him arming for his honour, His country and his gods, that martial fire, That mounts his courage, kindles even to me: And when the Trojan matrons wait him out With prayers, and meet with blessings his return, The pride of virtue beats within my breast, To wipe away the sweat and dust of war, And dress my hero glorious in his wounds.

_Hect._ Come to my arms, thou manlier virtue, come! Thou better name than wife! would'st thou not blush To hug a coward thus? [_Embrace._

_Priam._ Yet still I fear!

_Andro._ There spoke a woman; pardon, royal sir; Has he not met a thousand lifted swords Of thick-ranked Grecians, and shall one affright him? There's not a day but he encounters armies; And yet as safe, as if the broad-brimmed shield, That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death.

_Hect._ Thou know'st me well, and thou shalt praise me more; Gods make me worthy of thee!

_Andro._ You shall be My knight this day; you shall not wear a cause So black as Helen's rape upon your breast. Let Paris fight for Helen; guilt for guilt: But when you fight for honour and for me, Then let our equal gods behold an act, They may not blush to crown.

_Hect._ Æneas, go, And bear my challenge to the Grecian camp. If there be one amongst the best of Greece, Who holds his honour higher than his ease, Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear; Who loves his mistress more than in confession, And dares avow her beauty and her worth, In other arms than hers,--to him this challenge. I have a lady of more truth and beauty, Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; And will to-morrow, with the trumpet's call, Mid-way between their tents and these our walls, Maintain what I have said. If any come, My sword shall honour him; if none shall dare, Then shall I say, at my return to Troy, The Grecian dames are sun-burnt, and not worth The splinter of a lance.

_Æn._ It shall be told them, As boldly as you gave it.

_Priam._ Heaven protect thee! [_Exeunt._