HECTOR.
Hold you still, I say.
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man
Holds honour far more precious dear than life.
Enter Troilus.
How now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?
ANDROMACHE.
Cassandra, call my father to persuade.
[Exit Cassandra.]
HECTOR.
No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;
I am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.
TROILUS.
Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
Which better fits a lion than a man.
HECTOR.
What vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.
TROILUS.
When many times the captive Grecian falls,
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise and live.
HECTOR.
O, ’tis fair play!