Hect. You know my name’s not liable to fear.

Troil. Yes, to the worst of fear,—­to superstition. 
But whether that, or fondness of a wife,
(The more unpardonable ill) has seized you,
Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles,
And that Polyxena has begged your life.

Hect. How! that my life is begged, and by my sister?

Troil. Ulysses so informed me at our parting,
With a malicious and disdainful smile: 
’Tis true, he said not, in broad words, you feared;
But in well-mannered terms ’twas so agreed,
Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector.

Hect. He thinks my sister’s treason my petition;
That, largely vaunting, in my heat of blood,
More than I could, it seems, or durst perform,
I sought evasion.

Troil. And in private prayed—­

Hect. O yes, Polyxena to beg my life.

Andr. He cannot think so;—­do not urge him thus.

Hect. Not urge me! then thou think’st I need his urging. 
By all the gods, should Jove himself descend,
And tell me,—­Hector, thou deservest not life,
But take it as a boon,—­I would not live. 
But that a mortal man, and he, of all men,
Should think my life were in his power to give,
I will not rest, till, prostrate on the ground,
I make him, atheist-like, implore his breath
Of me, and not of heaven.

Troil. Then you’ll refuse no more to fight?

Hect. Refuse!  I’ll not be hindered, brother.  I’ll through and through them, even their hindmost ranks, Till I have found that large-sized boasting fool, Who dares presume my life is in his gift.

Andr. Farewell, farewell; ’tis vain to strive with fate! 
Cassandra’s raging god inspires my breast
With truths that must be told, and not believed. 
Look how he dies! look how his eyes turn pale! 
Look how his blood bursts out at many vents! 
Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out,
And widowed I fill all the streets with screams! 
Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps! 
And all cry, Hector, Hector’s dead!  Oh Hector! [Exit.

Hect. What sport will be, when we return at evening, To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams!

Troil. I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this night;
But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains,
And, when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss! 
I shall turn basilisk, and with my sight
Do my hands’ work on Diomede this day.

Hect. To arms, to arms! the vanguards are engaged
Let us not leave one man to guard the walls;
Both old and young, the coward and the brave,
Be summoned all, our utmost fate to try,
And as one body move, whose soul am I. [Exeunt.

SCENE II—­The Camp.