HEC. O ye accursed authors of this mischief,
How did those spies, who by the foe were sent
Thus, to your infamy, escape, and spread
Dire havoc through the host; both as they entered
And as they left the camp? Yet, unmolested,
Ye suffered them to pass. Who should be punished
But you? for you, I say, were stationed here
To watch the camp; but they without a wound
Are vanished, laughing at the Phrygian troops
For their unmanly cowardice, and me
Their leader. Be assured, by Jove I swear,
All-gracious father, or the scourge or death
Shall wait you for such guilt, else deem that Hector
Is but a thing of nought, a very coward.
CHOR. Great is, alas! my danger, mighty prince,
The foe stole in while I to you conveyed
Those tidings, that the Greeks around their ships
Had kindled fires: through all the live-long night
These watchful eyes have ne’er been sealed by sleep.
By Simois’ holy fountain I conjure you,
My royal lord, impute no blame to me,
For I am wholly guiltless. If you learn
That in my deeds or words I have offended,
Plunge me alive beneath earth’s deepest vault;
I ask no mercy.
CHA. Why dost thou upbraid
These for the guilt? by plausible harangues
Wouldst thou impose on thy barbarian friends;
O thou barbarian, thou the bloody deed
Didst perpetrate; nor can our slaughtered comrades,
Nor we who linger pierced with ghastly wounds,
Admit that ’twas another. There requires
A long and subtle speech to make me think
Thou didst not basely murder thy allies,
Because the beauty of our steeds attracted
Thy admiration, and on their account
Hast thou slain those who at thy earnest prayer
Landed on Ilion’s shore; they came, they died.
With greater decency than thou observ’st,
Who dost assassinate thy friends, did Paris
The rites of hospitality infringe.
Pretend not that some Grecian came unseen
And smote us. Who subdued the Phrygian host,
Who reached our quarters unobserved by Hector?
Thou with the Trojan army wert before us;
But who was wounded, who among thy troops
Expired, when through their ranks as thou pretend’st
The foe to us advanced? But I was wounded,
And they, whom a more grievous ill o’ertook,
No more behold the sun. To be explicit,
I charge no Greek: what foe could come by night
And find out Rhesus’ tent, unless some god
Had told the murderers, for they sure knew nought
Of his arrival? therefore all this mischief
Must be thy sole contrivance.
HEC. Our allies
Have long assisted us since first the Greeks
This realm invaded; and I never heard
They to my charge imputed any crime.
Could I begin with thee? by such desire
For beauteous steeds may I be never seized,
As to induce me to destroy my friends.
Ulysses was the author of this deed.
What Greek could have accomplished or contrived
Such an exploit, but he? Him much I fear:
My soul is also troubled lest he light
On Dolon too, and slay him, for ’tis long
Since he went forth, nor doth he yet return.
CHA. I know not that Ulysses whom thou nam’st,
Nor did a foe inflict this ghastly wound.
HEC. Therefore retain, since thus to thee it seems,
Thy own opinion.
CHA. O my native land,
Might I but die in thee!
HEC. Thou shalt not die:
For of the dead the number is sufficient.
CHA. Reft of my lord, but whither shall I turn?
HEC. Thou in my house shalt careful treatment find,
And healing balsams.
CHA. Shall the ruthless hands
Of murderers dress my wounds?
HEC. He will not cease
Alleging the same charge.
CHA. Perdition seize
The author of this bloody deed! my tongue
Has fixed no charge, as thou pretend’st, on thee;
But Justice knows.
HEC. Conduct him to my palace
With speed, that we may ’scape his clamorous plaints.
But you must go, and to the citizens
Proclaim, acquainting Priam, and the elders
Who sit in council, first, that I direct
The bodies of the slain shall be interred
With due respect beside the public road.
[_Exit_ CHARIOTEER, _supported by one of_
HECTOR’S _Attendants_.
CHOR. Why from the summit of exalted bliss
Into fresh woes hath some malignant god
Plunged Troy, why caused this sad reverse of fortune?
_The_ MUSE _appears in the air_, HECTOR, CHORUS.
CHOR. High o’er our heads what deity, O king,
Is hovering? in her hands a recent corse
She bears: I shudder at the dreadful sight.
MUSE. Ye Trojans, mark me well: for I a Muse
Who by the wise am worshipped, hither come,
One of the nine famed sisters, having seen
The wretched fate of this my dearest son,
Who by the foe was slain: but he who smote
The generous youth, Ulysses, that dissembler,
At length shall suffer as his crimes deserve.