 | Hector |  |
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.
| Hector | |