University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Achilles' Tent.
Ant.
Patroclus is no more! by Hector slain,
And plundered of his arms. Even for his corpse,
The naked corpse, the furious hosts contend,
And fall by mutual wounds around the dead.
To Troy to drag him all the Trojans rage,
Where Hector dooms him to the dogs a prey,
And shows the tower where he will fix his head.
Rise, son of Peleus rise, and if thou canst
Rescue the threaten'd relics of thy friend.

Ach.
Me, Agamemnon urged to deadly hate.
'Tis past, I quit it. Yes, yes, I will meet
The murderer of my friend, and if ordain'd,
Give too my carcase to the Trojan curs.
Yet my Patroclus linger in thy way,
Soon I shall join thee, and one doom awaits
The warrior and his friend, and Troy's black earth
Drink up the blood of both. But ere the soil
Shall with thy precious ashes be enrich'd,
The head of Hector will appease thy shade—
Yes, I will force his widow'd dame to smite
With frantic hands her desolated breast,
And tear the flying tresses from her head:
For now again I rouse the dreadful field
To reap the little glory life affords.
Ho! ye that wait within—my arms! my arms!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Field.
Hector and Trojans.
Ye men of Lycia, Dardanus, and Troy,
Be mindful of yourselves, and of the fame
That ye have gather'd in so many fields
Of bloody harvest! With the navy's flame
Let your full glory spread into the skies
And brighten o'er the earth. Death is the worst,
And death we all must in a little share;
But for our country 'tis a bliss to die!
The gallant man, though in the battle slain,
That leaves his country safe, his children free,
Makes his companions glory in his fate:
Honors attend his high ennobled race,
And late posterity resounds his praise.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Tent of Agamemnon.
Achilles, Agamemnon, &c.
Ach.
O King! far better sure had been the fate
Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian host,
If ere the day when, mad by passion, we
Contended for the luckless captive maid,
Had interposing Dian pierced her heart:
Long, long, shall Greece lament the woes we caused,
And distant ages oft repeat the tale.
But this is past—come let the curs'd debate
By us be all forgotten! Why should I,
A mortal man, with rage unquenchable
Still furious burn? Here then my anger ends.
Now rouse the war, and be the vengeance ours.

Agam.
What can the errors of my rage atone?
My troops, my treasures, all that I command
Are at thy will and taking.

Ach.
War I ask—
Give me but that. Here in the time we talk
Our work is slighted, and our duty suffers.

Uly.
Though godlike thou art by no toils oppress'd,
Our feebler troops crave respite and repose;
Let food again their wasted strength repair,
And daring spirit flow from generous wine,
Till their fierce fancies urge them to the foe:
Yet a short interval, and then the war.

Ach.
By Hector slain, their faces to the sky,
Behold our heroes grim with gaping wounds;
Pale lies my friend with ghastly gashes torn.
Revenge is all my soul! no meaner care
Can enter in the furious furnace here.
But go, ye chiefs, indulge the genial rite.
Destruction be my part, and flowing blood,
Riots of death and agonizing wounds!

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

The Field. Troy in view.
Achilles
to his men.
Ye far-fam'd myrmidons! ye fierce and brave,
Think what reproaches I so long endured.
“Stern son of Peleus!” thus, ye cried to me,
While ye lay restless raging in the ships—
“O nurs'd with gall, why does thy stubborn ire
“Defraud us of the field, nor send us home?”
Such were your words, now, warriors, grieve no more,
This day will give all that your rage desires.
Behold the Trojans! feast your hungry swords,
Glut your starv'd hearts, and let your fury thrive.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

The Battle.
Hector
and Paris, &c.
Where is Deiphobus, where Asius gone,
And Othryonæus, where are they fled?
Sure fate hangs o'er thee with her blackest doom,
Curse of thy race, and of the Trojan state.

Par.
O taunt not thus, my brother and my friend,
Thy warm impatience makes thy tongue unjust.
In other battles I deserved thy scorn,
But not in this. The chiefs you seek are slain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

A Room.
Andromache.
What sounds are these, alas! what dismal cry
Invades my ear! Hark, how the people shriek!
My trembling knees fail under me. My heart
Flutters as if in danger. Some new woe,
Some sad reverse of fate recoils on Troy!
O! ye great gods, my fearful thoughts repress!
What if my Hector with Achilles fight,
Or chas'd along the plain, he fall, he die!

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

The Walls.
Priam
on the wall.
Haste, haste, ye wardens of the city gate,
Set wide your portals to the flying throng.

[Enter Hector.]
Hec.
O Gods! where lies my way? To enter here!
Honor and shame th'ignoble thought cancel.
No—if I e'er return, let me return
Triumphant from my country's terror slain;
Or, if I perish, let her see me fall
In open battle and in her defence.

Priam.
(from above on the wall)
Ah, stay not, stay not, Hector, guardless there—
Hector, my lov'd, my dearest, bravest son,
Yet shun Achilles, enter yet the town
And spare thyself, enter and save us all—
Shelter thy life, or if a soul so brave
Neglect that thought, O save thy dearer fame!
Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs!
O miserable me! on the last brink
Of helpless age to stand this spectacle,
And drain the bitter dregs of fortune's cup.
He comes, he comes, with unresisted sway,
Achilles comes, and havoc tracks his course.

[Enter Achilles.]
Ach.
Join battle man to man, and arms to arms.
[Exit Hector.
Wretch! thou hast scaped again, once more thy flight
Has saved thee. But not long it shall avail
If any power assist Achilles' hand.

[Exit.
Priam.
(from above)
O Hector, late thy parents' pride and joy
The boast of nations, and thy country's shield—
To whom she owed her safety and her fame,
Her chief, her hero, and almost her God!
O wretched Trojans, hither turn your steps,
And weeping blood, behold you dismal sight,
The man belov'd of heaven, your Hector fly
Inglorious from the all-subduing foe.

SCENE VIII.

The Combat.
Hector.
Enough, Achilles, Troy has seen me fly,
But now some God within inspires anew
My soul: and bids me try, thine or my fate;
Or thou or I shall fall. But on the verge
Of this last battle let us pause a space,
And call the heavens to arbitrate the just
Conditions of our stipulated terms.

Ach.
Detested as thou art, nor pact nor oath,
Achilles plights with thee: such pacts as wolves
Make with the lambs, such leagues as lions make
With men, I make with thee. To such I call
The gods of heaven and hell. Eternal hate,
No thought but rage, nor other truce than death.
Rouse then thyself, and call up all thy heart,
Collect thy soul for this decisive strife.
Each Grecian ghost by thee deprived of breath,
Now hovers round, rejoicing at thy doom.

Hec.
The life you fancied to that jav'lin given,
Prince, you have miss'd. Thy life on mine depends.
To thee, audacious, is unknown my doom,
Or what may prove thy own: but this I know,
By no ignoble wound shall Hector die!
I shall not fall a fugitive. My soul
Shall bravely issue, but first try my arm—
A spear, O Gods! a spear! Is it so, Heaven?
But in a mighty act I will expire,
Let future ages hear and emulate.

Ach.
At length is Hector stretch'd upon the plain,
Who fear'd no vengeance when he slew my friend.
Then, Prince, you should have fear'd, and trembling known,
Achilles absent was Achilles still.
But a short space the great avenger staid,
He came, and laid thee with thy glories there.
Peaceful Patroclus sleeps, rescued from Troy,
But thee shall birds and mangling dogs devour.

Hec.
By all the holy prevalence of pray'r,
Achilles, leave me not to dogs a prey.
The common rites of earth to earth confer,
To soothe a father's and a widow's woe.

Ach.
Though Troy to bribe me offer all her store,
Though Dardan Priam, and thy weeping dame
Drain all their realms to buy thy carcase back,
They shall not rob the vultures of one limb.

Hec.
The furies thy relentless heart have steel'd,
And fill'd it with unconquerable hate,
Yet think the day will come, when thou shalt pay
The full atonement for the wreck of me.

[Dies.
Ach.
Princes and leaders of the Grecian bands,
The fates, the Gods, lo! to our arm have given
The great destroyer, the defence of Troy;
Is not already then the town our own?
Haste and survey if yon deserted towers
Hold yet another hero, meanwhile you,
My myrmidons, in triumph bear the corpse.
Lift now the harmless, once the mighty Hector,
And be your song triumphant to the shore,
“Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.”