ACT V. SCENE I.

HECTOR, _Trojans,_ ANDROMACHE.

_Hect._ The blue mists rise from off the nether grounds, And the sun mounts apace. To arms, to arms! I am resolved to put to the utmost proof The fate of Troy this day.

_Andr._ [_Aside._] Oh wretched woman, oh!

_Hect._ Methought I heard you sigh, Andromache.

_Andr._ Did you, my lord?

_Hect._ Did you, my lord? you answer indirectly; Just when I said, that I would put our fate Upon the extremest proof, you fetched a groan; And, as you checked yourself for what you did, You stifled it and stopt. Come, you are sad.

_Andr._ The gods forbid!

_Hect._ What should the gods forbid?

_Andr._ That I should give you cause of just offence.

_Hect._ You say well; but you look not chearfully. I mean this day to waste the stock of war, And lay it prodigally out in blows. Come, gird my sword, and smile upon me, love; Like victory, come flying to my arms, And give me earnest of desired success.

_Andr._ The gods protect you, and restore you to me!

_Hect._ What, grown a coward! Thou wert used, Andromache, To give my courage courage; thou would'st cry,-- Go Hector, day grows old, and part of fame Is ravished from thee by thy slothful stay.

_Andr._ [_Aside._] What shall I do to seem the same I was?-- Come, let me gird thy fortune to thy side, And conquest sit as close and sure as this. [_She goes to gird his sword, and it falls._ Now mercy, heaven! the gods avert this omen!

_Hect._ A foolish omen! take it up again, And mend thy error.

_Andr._ I cannot, for my hand obeys me not; But, as in slumbers, when we fain would run From our imagined fears, our idle feet Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward; So now, when I would force myself to chear you, My faltering tongue can give no glad presage: Alas, I am no more Andromache.

_Hect._ Why then thy former soul is flown to me; For I, methinks, am lifted into air, As if my mind, mastering my mortal part, Would bear my exalted body to the gods. Last night I dreamt Jove sat on Ida's top, And, beckoning with his hand divine from far, He pointed to a choir of demi-gods, Bacchus and Hercules, and all the rest, Who, free from human toils, had gained the pitch Of blest eternity;--Lo there, he said, Lo there's a place for Hector.

_Andr._ Be to thy enemies this boding dream!

_Hect._ Why, it portends me honour and renown.

_Andr._ Such honour as the brave gain after death; For I have dreamt all night of horrid slaughters, Of trampling horses, and of chariot wheels Wading in blood up to their axle-trees; Of fiery demons gliding down the skies, And Ilium brightened with a midnight blaze: O therefore, if thou lovest me, go not forth.

_Hect._ Go to thy bed again, and there dream better.-- Ho! bid my trumpet sound.

_Andr._ No notes of sally, for the heaven's sweet sake! 'Tis not for nothing when my spirits droop; This is a day when thy ill stars are strong, When they have driven thy helpless genius down The steep of heaven, to some obscure retreat.

_Hect._ No more; even as thou lovest my fame, no more; My honour stands engaged to meet Achilles. What will the Grecians think, or what will he, Or what will Troy, or what wilt thou thyself, When once this ague fit of fear is o'er, If I should lose my honour for a dream?

_Andr._ Your enemies too well your courage know, And heaven abhors the forfeit of rash vows, Like spotted livers in a sacrifice. I cannot, O I dare not let you go; For, when you leave me, my presaging mind Says, I shall never, never see you more.

_Hect._ Thou excellently good, but oh too soft, Let me not 'scape the danger of this day; But I have struggling in my manly soul, To see those modest tears, ashamed to fall, And witness any part of woman in thee! And now I fear, lest thou shouldst think it fear, If, thus dissuaded, I refuse to fight, And stay inglorious in thy arms at home.

_Andr._ Oh, could I have that thought, I should not love thee; Thy soul is proof to all things but to kindness; And therefore 'twas that I forbore to tell thee, How mad Cassandra, full of prophecy, Ran round the streets, and, like a Bacchanal, Cried,--Hold him, Priam, 'tis an ominous day; Let him not go, for Hector is no more.

_Hect._ Our life is short, but to extend that span To vast eternity, is virtue's work; Therefore to thee, and not to fear of fate, Which once must come to all, give I this day. But see thou move no more the like request; For rest assured, that, to regain this hour, To-morrow will I tempt a double danger. Mean time, let destiny attend thy leisure; I reckon this one day a blank of life.

_Enter_ TROILUS.

_Troil._ Where are you, brother? now, in honour's name, What do you mean to be thus long unarmed? The embattled soldiers throng about the gates; The matrons to the turrets' tops ascend, Holding their helpless children in their arms, To make you early known to their young eyes, And Hector is the universal shout.

_Hect._ Bid all unarm; I will not fight to-day.

_Troil._ Employ some coward to bear back this news, And let the children hoot him for his pains. By all the gods, and by my just revenge, This sun shall shine the last for them or us; These noisy streets, or yonder echoing plains, Shall be to-morrow silent as the grave.

_Andr._ O brother, do not urge a brother's fate, But, let this wreck of heaven and earth roll o'er, And, when the storm is past, put out to sea.

_Troil._ O now I know from whence his change proceeds; Some frantic augur has observed the skies; Some victim wants a heart, or crow flies wrong. By heaven, 'twas never well, since saucy priests Grew to be masters of the listening herd, And into mitres cleft the regal crown; Then, as the earth were scanty for their power, They drew the pomp of heaven to wait on them. Shall I go publish, Hector dares not fight, Because a madman dreamt he talked with Jove? What could the god see in a brain-sick priest, That he should sooner talk to him than me?

_Hect._ You know my name's not liable to fear.

_Troil._ Yes, to the worst of fear,--to superstition. But whether that, or fondness of a wife, (The more unpardonable ill) has seized you, Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles, And that Polyxena has begged your life.

_Hect._ How! that my life is begged, and by my sister?

_Troil._ Ulysses so informed me at our parting, With a malicious and disdainful smile: 'Tis true, he said not, in broad words, you feared; But in well-mannered terms 'twas so agreed, Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector.

_Hect._ He thinks my sister's treason my petition; That, largely vaunting, in my heat of blood, More than I could, it seems, or durst perform, I sought evasion.

_Troil._ And in private prayed--

_Hect._ O yes, Polyxena to beg my life.

_Andr._ He cannot think so;--do not urge him thus.

_Hect._ Not urge me! then thou think'st I need his urging. By all the gods, should Jove himself descend, And tell me,--Hector, thou deservest not life, But take it as a boon,--I would not live. But that a mortal man, and he, of all men, Should think my life were in his power to give, I will not rest, till, prostrate on the ground, I make him, atheist-like, implore his breath Of me, and not of heaven.

_Troil._ Then you'll refuse no more to fight?

_Hect._ Refuse! I'll not be hindered, brother. I'll through and through them, even their hindmost ranks, Till I have found that large-sized boasting fool, Who dares presume my life is in his gift.

_Andr._ Farewell, farewell; 'tis vain to strive with fate! Cassandra's raging god inspires my breast With truths that must be told, and not believed. Look how he dies! look how his eyes turn pale! Look how his blood bursts out at many vents! Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out, And widowed I fill all the streets with screams! Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, Like antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps! And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! Oh Hector! [_Exit._

_Hect._ What sport will be, when we return at evening, To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams!

_Troil._ I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this night; But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains, And, when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss! I shall turn basilisk, and with my sight Do my hands' work on Diomede this day.

_Hect._ To arms, to arms! the vanguards are engaged Let us not leave one man to guard the walls; Both old and young, the coward and the brave, Be summoned all, our utmost fate to try, And as one body move, whose soul am I. [_Exeunt._