_Myrmid._ Up yon sandy hill; You may discern them by their smoking track: A wavering body working with bent hams Against the rising, spent with painful march, And by loose footing cast on heaps together. _Achil._ O thou art gone, thou sweetest, best of friends! Why did I let thee tempt the shock of war, Ere yet the tender nerves had strung thy limbs, And knotted into strength! Yet, though too late, I will, I will revenge thee, my Patroclus! Nor shall thy ghost thy murderers long attend, But thou shalt hear him calling Charon back, Ere thou art wafted to the farther shore.-- Make haste, my soldiers; give me this day's pains For my dead friend: strike every hand with mine, Till Hector breathless on the ground we lay! Revenge is honour, the securest way. [_Exit with Myrm._ _Enter_ THERSITES, TROILUS, _Trojans._ _Thers._ That's Calchas's tent. _Troil._ Then, that one spot of earth contains more falsehood, Than all the sun sees in his race beside. That I should trust the daughter of a priest! Priesthood, that makes a merchandise of heaven! Priesthood, that sells even to their prayers and blessings And forces us to pay for our own cozenage! _Thers._ Nay, cheats heaven too with entrails and with offals; Gives it the garbage of a sacrifice, And keeps the best for private luxury. _Troil._ Thou hast deserved thy life for cursing priests. Let me embrace thee; thou art beautiful: That back, that nose, those eyes are beautiful: Live; thou art honest, for thou hat'st a priest. _Thers._ [_Aside._] Farewell, Trojan; if I escape with life, as I hope, and thou art knocked on the head, as I hope too, I shall be the first that ever escaped the revenge of a priest after cursing him; and thou wilt not be the last, I prophesy, that a priest will bring to ruin. [_Exit_ THER. _Troil._ Methinks, my soul is roused to her last work; Has much to do, and little time to spare. She starts within me, like a traveller, Who sluggishly outslept his morning hour, And mends his pace to reach his inn betimes. [_Noise within,_ Follow, follow! A noise of arms! the traitor may be there; Or else, perhaps, that conscious scene of love, The tent, may hold him; yet I dare not search, For oh, I fear to find him in that place. [_Exit_ TROILUS. _Enter_ CALCHAS _and_ CRESSIDA. _Cres._ Where is he? I'll be justified, or die. _Calch._ So quickly vanished! he was here but now. He must be gone to search for Diomede; For Diomede told me, here they were to fight. _Cres._ Alas! _Calch._ You must prevent, and not complain. _Cres._ If Troilus die, I have no share in life. _Calch._ If Diomede sink beneath the sword of Troilus We lose not only a protector here, But are debarred all future means of flight. _Cres._ What then remains?