Prologos
HECTOR.
Through our whole array
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Send runners! Bid them shake off sleep and wait
Ready with shield and spear. ’Tis not too late
To catch them as they climb on board, and slash
Their crouching shoulders till the gangways splash
With blood, or teach them, fettered leg and arm,
To dig the stiff clods of some Trojan farm.
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LEADER.
My Prince, thy words run fast. Nor thou nor I
Have knowledge yet that the Greeks mean to fly.
HECTOR.
What makes them light their beacons? Tell me, what?
LEADER.
God knows! And, for my part, I like it not.
HECTOR.
What, feared? Thou wouldst be feared of everything!
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LEADER.
They never lit such light before, O King.
HECTOR.
They never fled, man, in such wild dismay.
LEADER
’Twas all thy work.—Judge thou, and we obey.
HECTOR.
My word is simple. Arm and face the foe.
LEADER.
Who comes? Aeneas, and in haste, as though
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Fraught with some sudden tiding of the night.
AENEAS.
Hector, what means it? Watchers in affright
Who gather shouting at thy doors, and then
