Most putrefied core, so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death.
Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield behind him
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons
Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the vail and darking of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down! Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain, 'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
A retreat sounded
Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.
The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, And, stickler-like, the armies separates. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, Pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
Sheathes his sword
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail.