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.
Alarm within. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Menelaus, Soldiers.
Agam. Thus far the promise of the day is fair.
Æneas rather loses ground than gains.
I saw him over-laboured, taking breath,
And leaning on his spear, behold our trenches,
Like a fierce lion looking up to toils,
Which yet he durst not leap.
Ulys. And therefore distant death does all the work;
The flights of whistling darts make brown the sky,
Whose clashing points strike fire, and gild the dusk;
Those, that reach home, from neither host are vain,
So thick the prease; so lusty are their arms,
That death seemed never sent with better will.
Nor was with less concernment entertained.
Enter Nestor.
Agam. Now, Nestor, what's the news?
Nest. I have descried
A cloud of dust, that mounts in pillars upwards,
Expanding as it travels to our camp;
And from the midst I heard a bursting shout,
That rent the heaven; as if all Troy were swarmed.
And on the wing this way.