HECTOR.
Is this Achilles?
ACHILLES.
I am Achilles.
HECTOR.
Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.
ACHILLES.
Behold thy fill.
HECTOR.
Nay, I have done already.
ACHILLES.
Thou art too brief. I will the second time,
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
HECTOR.
O, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;
But there’s more in me than thou understand’st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?
ACHILLES.
Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?
That I may give the local wound a name,
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.
HECTOR.
It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
To answer such a question. Stand again.
Think’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
As to prenominate in nice conjecture
Where thou wilt hit me dead?
ACHILLES.
I tell thee yea.