Part 3 (1/2)

We live at ease and have no care for gold.

HECTOR.

Well, Troy hath other treasures manifold.

DOLON. [vv. 172-183]

Pay me not now, but when the Greeks are ta'en.

HECTOR.

The Greeks! . . . Choose any save the Atridae twain.

DOLON.

Kill both, an it please thee. I make prayer for none.

HECTOR.

Thou wilt not ask for Ajax, ileus' son?

DOLON.

A princely hand is skilless at the plough.

HECTOR.

'Tis ransom, then? . . . What prisoner cravest thou?

DOLON.

I said before, of gold we have our fill.

HECTOR.

For spoils and armour . . . thou shalt choose at will.

DOLON.

Nail them for trophies on some temple wall.

HECTOR.

What seeks the man? What prize more rich than all?

DOLON.

Achilles' horses! [_Murmurs of surprise._ Yes, I need a great Prize. I am dicing for my life with Fate.

HECTOR. [vv. 184-203]

'Fore G.o.d, I am thy rival, if thy love Lies there. Undying was the breed thereof, And these shall never die, who bear to war Great Peleus' son, swift gleaming like a star.