Another part of the plains.
(Diomedes; Diomedes’s Servant; Agamemnon; Nestor; Ulysses; Ajax; Achilles)
The battle continues. Diomedes has captured Troilus’s horse and sends it as a gift to Cressida. Agamemnon tries to rally the Greeks, who are losing; then Nestor enters and announces that Patroclus has been killed. Ulysses soon arrives to tell them that Achilles is going to enter the battle with his men to revenge Patroclus, calling out for Hector, while Ajax, in the like case, is roaring for Troilus. The tallying Greeks return to the fray. (50 lines)
Enter Diomedes and his Servant.
Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse,
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid.
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
Tell her I have chastis’d the amorous Troyan,
And am her knight by proof.
I go, my lord.
Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas
Hath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner,
And stands Colossus-wise, waving his beam,
Upon the pashed corses of the kings
Epistrophus and Cedius; Polyxenes is slain,
Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt,
Patroclus ta’en or slain, and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruised. The dreadful Sagittary
Appalls our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Go bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,
And bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.
There is a thousand Hectors in the field:
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,
And there they fly or die, like scaling sculls
Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him like a mower’s swath.
Here, there, and every where, he leaves and takes,
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he does, and does so much
That proof is call’d impossibility.
O, courage, courage, princes! Great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.
Patroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend,
And foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,
Roaring for Troilus, who hath done today
Mad and fantastic execution,
Engaging and redeeming of himself
With such a careless force, and forceless care,
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,
Bade him win all.
Troilus, thou coward Troilus!
Ay, there, there.
So, so, we draw together.
Where is this Hector?
Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face,
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector, where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.