My lord, you do discomfort all the host!

Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field:
Never go home; here starve we out the night.

I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.

'Tis the old Nestor.

The noble Menelaus.

There is expectance here from both the sides,
What further you will do.

Princes, enough, so please you.

Therefore Achilles: but, whate'er, know this:
In the extremity of great and little,
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of ...

If not Achilles, sir,
What is your name?

He cares not; he'll obey conditions.

Hail, all you state of Greece! what shall be done
To him that victory commands? or do you purpose
A victor shall be known? will you the knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice or order of the field ...

Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels:
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth and single chivalry.

How have we spent this morning!
The prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That sore to ride before him to the field.

Within Nay, good my lord,--

Within My lord, is the lady ready?

Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
Have not more gift in taciturnity.

By Priam and the general state of Troy:
They are at hand and ready to effect it.

My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes ...

Who!--nay, then: come, come, you'll do him wrong
ere you're ware: you'll be so true to him, to be
false to him: do not you know of him, but yet go
fetch him hither; go.

Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him:
It doth import him much to speak with me.

Is not Prince Troilus here?

Good morrow, lord, good morrow.

Good morrow, all.

That I assure you:
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
Than Cressid borne from Troy.

I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not.

We know each other well.

And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
With his face backward. In humane gentleness,
Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love in such a sort
The thing he means to kill more excellently.

Health to you, valiant sir,
During all question of the gentle truce;
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
As heart can think or courage execute.

Is the prince there in person?
Had I so good occasion to lie long
As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
Trumpet sounds
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector,--Priam is his father,--
Who in this dull ...

Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and,
Jove's accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy ...

Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

Fair leave and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?

May one, that is a herald and a prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears?

Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?

In all swift haste.

Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!

Troilus, by Menelaus.

That Paris is returned home and hurt.

How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?