at country, and betrayed by my parents to be born there. And
besides, I have a mortal enemy among the Grecians, one Diomede, a
damned villain, and cannot die with a safe conscience till I have
first murdered him.

_Troil._ Shew me that Diomede, and thou shalt live.

_Thers._ Come along with me, and I will conduct thee to Calchas's
tent, where I believe he is now, making war with the priest's
daughter.

_Hect._ Here we must part, our destinies divide us;
Brother and friend, farewell.

_Troil._ When shall we meet?

_Hect._ When the gods please; if not, we once must part.
Look; on yon hill their squandered troops unite.

_Troil._ If I mistake not, 'tis their last reserve:
The storm's blown o'er, and those but after-drops.

_Hect._ I wish our men be not too far engaged;
For few we are and spent, as having born
The burthen of the day: But, hap what can,
They shall be charged; Achilles must be there,
And him I seek, or death.
Divide our troops, and take the fresher half.

_Troil._ O brother!

_Hect._ No dispute of ceremony:
These are enow for me, in faith enow.
Their bodies shall not flag while I can lead;
Nor wearied limbs confess mortality,
Before those ants, that blacken all yon hill,
Are crept into the earth. Farewell. [_Exit_ HECT.

_Troil._ Farewell.--Come, Greek.

_Thers._ Now these rival rogues will clapperclaw one another, and I
shall have the sport of it. [_Exit_ TROIL. _with_ THERS.

_Enter_ ACHILLES _and Myrmidons._

_Achill._ Which way went Hector?

_Myrmid._ Up yon sandy hill;
You may discern them by their smoking track:
A wavering body working with bent hams
Against the rising, spent with painful march,
And by loose footing cast on heaps together.

_Achil._ O thou art gone, thou sweetest, best of friends!
Why did I let thee tempt the shock of war,
Ere yet the tender nerves had strung thy limbs,
And knotted into strength! Yet, though too late,
I will, I will revenge thee, my Patroclus!
Nor shall thy ghost thy murderers long attend,
But thou shalt hear him calling Charon back,
Ere thou art wafted to the farther shore.--
Make haste, my soldiers; give me this day's pains
For my dead friend: strike every hand with mine,
Till Hector breathless on the ground we lay!
Revenge is honour, the securest way. [_Exit with Myrm._

_Enter_ THERSITES, TROILUS, _Trojans._

_Thers._ That's Calchas's tent.

_Troil._ Then, that one spot of earth c