SCENE 8. Another part of the plain
Most putrified core so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
[Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons.]
Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels;
Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain
'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
[A retreat sounded.]
Hark! a retreat upon our Grecian part.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
[Sheathes his sword.]
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.