[Enter Hector.]
HECTOR.
Most putrified core so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
[Disarms.]
[Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.]
ACHILLES.
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.
HECTOR.
I am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.
ACHILLES.
Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
[Hector falls.]
So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain ‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’
[A retreat sounded.]
Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.
MYRMIDON.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
ACHILLES.
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.
[Exeunt.]