SCENE VIII. Another part of the plain.

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 .]