The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

The fields before Troy.
The Trojan army retiring slowly before the Greeks.
AJAX OILEUS
Now for the gates, now for the walls thereto.
One charge now, come, they cannot bide us long.
Ho Greeks why march ye on so slow?
Remember you how iron is beat out
Blow upon blow when yet it is red hot.

AJAX TELAMON
Nay nay Oileus, they are not beat yet.
Keep close lads and beware how your array
Gets loosened: Ho Oileus, press on, Greeks!

HECTOR
So so, ye are heating: will you have it then?
Spears here for Hector! back with them, good lads!
Ah Ajax, 'ware my spear point! keep your feet,
And so go back. Lo there, you kneel to me!

AJAX [TELAMON]
Ho Diomed to aid! this way, this way!

TROILUS
Which way goes Diomed? which way, which way?

DIOMEDES
Here am I, Troilus; will you win ought?

TROILUS
Nay I have nought to win, and yet perdie
You may lose something, Pallas to my aid!

HECTOR
Now my good Trojans, follow Hector's spear.
Long-seeing brother Helenus, say now
If hence the Scæan gates are clear to you.
Can you see ought? The dust is in mine eyes.

HELENUS
Nay shield me Hector while I turn my back.
Lo, lo the spear points shine over the gates!
Now down they go, the door is just ajar.
Ho they are coming! Shout aloud with me
Ho room for Venus, room for Venus there!

Enter Æneas and his company running. The Trojans opening right and left.
[ÆNEAS]
For mother Venus! out ye thieves of Greece!
Behold your table spread, good fellows mine,
Feast now your full.

AGAMEMNON
Ho, bide them steadily,
These are but men. Go fellow, to the camp
And bid Ulysses run with all his folk.

The Greeks fall back.

HECTOR
O Jove, I pray that thou wouldst do for me
What well thou knowest I would do for thee,
If thou wert Hector, I were Jove today.
Ho my good fellows, follow and strike in!
They cannot hold together; ho for peace!

They charge, the Greeks are broken.
Exeunt fighting.
Enter Troilus and rout.
TROILUS
Ho you Sir Knight wearing a lady's glove,
Is Diomed a-running with the rest?
Turn with your rout and meet me if you dare!

Enter Diomed with rout.
Exeunt omnes fighting.
Enter Achilles and troops.
ACHILLES
So, so! our headstrong kings are being well beat
As they might well have thought to be: but I
No stroke have struck, nor any of my men,
Nor will we till I meet my foe alone
Or worsted somewhat by mere numbers—ah
What din and shouts! by God! I just half doubt
I might [have] done a wiser thing and helped.

They'll burn the ships and if he should come back
With no one after him but his own men
Why I must run or die. Go we aside
And lurk behind the hawthorn bushes thick
Where the fight has not been today as yet.

Exeunt.
Enter Hector with his helmet in his hand.
HECTOR
Well I have done enough today I think;
Rest, head, thou waggest merrily as yet
On Hector's shoulders. Jove, how hot it is!
Pray you O Goddess of these trodden flowers,
Keep well my hawberk and my wambeson.
Here will I rest me for a little while
Till Troilus come. Ah but he comes at once.

Enter Achilles.
ACHILLES
Caught Hector, caught! ho Myrmidons spread round!
Look now, that man there rising to his knees
Unarmed and all alone, the same is he
Has slain your kindred by the twenty: Sirs,
Can ye not shout? have ye no words for that?
I am as happy as a man can be.

HECTOR
Little thought I that I should ever pray
Not to be slain by you, Achilles: thus
Pray I this day by Jove and all the Gods.

ACHILLES
Upon your knees, my Hector, now pray out.

HECTOR
Upon my knees I pray you to spare me
For knighthood's sake, yea make me not ashamed
When I go down with Hermes 'neath the earth,
That ever in the field I met with you
As man to man. Well will you be apaid,
No ounce of gold will stay behind in Troy
If I say, Give.

ACHILLES
Hector, am I a fool
To come to Troy and suffer many things,
Forgetting Troy and all that is within,
And then when Troy lies here within my hand
Let it slip out? and yet go [on] I pray;
Your speaking is as music to mine ears.

HECTOR
O Troy and light of day farewell, farewell,
With all I fought for! Nay I will not dance
To this man's piping, nay I will not wait
Till slowly he shall come and cut my throat,
Unhelmed unfenced: yet have I my good sword.
Ho Hector for the sons of Priamus!
Who will be first of you—what, not a man
But ye behind who finger your bowstrings!
O Jove I thank thee that I die hot blood.
Ho Hector for the sons of Priamus!

The author evidently intended to write this episode.—Ed.