 | Hector |  |
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.
| Hector | |