Early Modern Mythological Texts: Troia Britanica XII (51-112)

Thomas Heywood. Troia Britanica (1609)


Stanzas 51-60 — 61-70 — 71-80 — 81-90 — 91-100 — 101-112 — Heywood’s endnotes to Canto XII

Ed. Patricia DORVAL



Great Hector scorns pursuit, nor takes he breath,

But falls upon the next Greek that he finds,

And prints on him the bloody stamp of death;

The long-imprisoned soul his sword unbinds.

Meantime, Achilles, roused, abroad surveyeth

For Hector, th’object of all noble minds.

   But when he found himself from Hector strayed,

   The prince doth base Automedon upbraid,



Who, falling prostrate, soothes Achilles thus:

“Let not on me your deadly hate be grounded,

Not I from him, but Archeptolemus

Made way from me, for sure great Hector’s wounded.

With you retired the son of Priamus

On equal points; our rich-manèd steeds have bounded

   Over these plains; great Hector, well-nigh dead

   By great Achilles, is to Troyward sped.”



This calms the wrathful Greek who else had sought

His opposite amidst the slaughtering troops.

Disjoined from him, th’enragèd elsewhere fought,

And where he rears his hand that squadron stoops;

His armèd chariot midst their phalanx wrought

Horrid effusion; Troy’s proud faction droops

   Beneath Achilles’ arm, nor can it yield―

   Save Hector―one to stand him in the field.



The Archduke Agamemnon with his spear

Encountered King Pandarus, till both bled.

King Telamon pressed to Sarpedon near,

And with his blade he raught him on the head;

By their rude force, they both unhorsèd were;

Against Euryalus, King Theseus sped,

   Neither ’scape wound-free; Carras bore him well

   ’Gainst Sthenelus, till from their steeds both fell.



King Philomenes made Antenor fly;

King Remus with the King Philotas ran;

Before Ulysses doth Arastus lie.

Ajax this day hath slaughtered many a man;

King Priam’s bastard sons themselves apply

In many a skirmish since the charge began;

   Young Deiphebus and Aeneas stand

   ’Gainst Hupon, and the three-aged Nestor’s band.



Troilus and Diomed fiercely assail,

And bravely beat each other from their steeds,

Both rescued by the press, else, without fail,

There had been fixed the period of their deeds.

Remounted, Diomed breaks through the pale

Of his armed foes, and to his horse proceeds.

   So Troilus hews his passage through the rings

   Of harnessed foes, and to his steed he springs.



Paris and Menelaus once more meet,

And bring unto the battle fresh supplies;

With thundering strokes upon their helms they greet.

Boetes the admiral, Hector defies,

Boetes that did command their black-stemmed fleet,

Against him doth Priamides arise,

   And with such violent rage upon him sped,

   That with one blow he cleft his helm-decked head.



The admiral thus dead, Hector desires

The goodly steed, from whom the Greek was felled,

Which―as for deeds of honour he inquires―

The King Archilochus by chance beheld,

Who seeing Boetes dead, the wound admires;

His face looked pale; his heart with anger swelled,

   And with his sword he covets to make bleed

   The Trojan prince, who still pursues the steed,



Who, storming to be troubled in the chase,

Against the King Archilochus returns.

Enragèd Mars is figured in his face,

And in his looks the eye of Gorgons burns.

The Greek’s blunt sword can scarce his helmet raze,

So weak a foe, inflamèd Hector scorns.

   Upon his crest his falchion he lets fall,

   And cleaves the Greek, helm, body, arms and all.



The emulous son of Thetis crossed by chance

The black-gored field, and came to view this blow,

And mad in mind, against him charged his lance

In hope the towering prince to overthrow.

Him Thoas seconds, and doth proudly advance

His reeking sword, late crimsoned in the foe.

   Both with remorseless blows the prince offend,

   And his bruised shield about his arm they bend.



Had not his helmet been of metal pure,

With axes they had hewed it from his head;

But he that made it was an artsman sure,

Else had his brains been on his harness spread;

Nor had he long been able to endure

Such tedious battery, had not Fortune led

   Paris, Aeneas, Troilus, and the rest

   To rescue valiant Hector, thus oppressed.



At their approach, the Achive bands retire,

Whom to their palisadoes they pursue.

By this, in heaven, ten thousand lamps of fire

Shine through the air, and now both hosts withdrew.

The reassembled Greeks Hector admire,

And ’mongst themselves into sad council grew:

   Since not by force of arms, by what sly train,

   The never-daunted Worthy may be slain?



More honoured Hector, in his royal brain,

Revolves on milder thoughts, how blood to save.

It pities him to see so many slain,

And come to such a general timeless grave.

Then, that no more red blood may Simois stain,

And change the colour of her silver wave,

   He, by a general challenge, will devise,

   For thousands’ safeties, one to sacrifice.



Against all Greece, he’ll fling his hostile gage,

And to a single fight their princes dare,

That two bold champions may the combat wage,

And, in their mutual fury, thousands spare.

Meantime, black night from th’universal stage

Of earth is chased and driven. Now all prepare

   For th’early field, and with Apollo rise,

   To shine in armour by his radiant eyes.



The princes, to the place where Hector lay,

Throng in their arms, and his command attend.

After they had took and given the time of day,

With him they to the agèd king descend,

Before whom, Hector briefly doth display

His purposed challenge, which they all commend,

   For well his father and his brothers know

   Hector hath power t’encounter any foe.



The sun, up the steep eastern hills, climbs fast,

Th’embattled Greeks upon the plains appear;

To them, the fair-ranked Trojans march in haste,

Within the reach of Hector’s armèd spear.

Both hosts attend the charge, when, unaghast,

The prince first wafts, that all the camp may hear;

   Then, leaning on his javelin, makes this boast,

   Even in the face of their assembled host.



“You, curlèd Greeks, that have unpeopled quite

Threescore vast kingdoms of their ablest men

To throng our fields with numbers infinite,

All hopeless of their safe return again,

Among these sixty kings that shine so bright

In burnished steel, upon this sanguine fen,

Can you select one bolder than the rest,

T’encounter armèd Hector, crest to crest?



Hector’s challenge



“Or, if your princes be too weak a number,

Can all those threescore climates yield one hand,

Amidst this world that comes our realm to cumber,

That dares between these hosts ’gainst Hector stand?

Or do you all fear death’s eternal slumber,

As well your kings, as those of common band,

   That, with a brave breathed in so many ears,

   No soul more valiant than the rest appears?



If any of these princes prove so free,

His prodigal life against ours to engage,

Know, by exposing his, whole thousands be

Saved from the spoil of war’s infernal rage.

O let me then that thrifty champion see,

That will spare Grecian blood. With him, I’ll wage

   Equal contention; with my life’s expense,

   I will maintain the Trojans’ eminence.



A prince shall meet that prince, as near allied

To thundering Jove as he that’s best degreed.

If in his warlike chariot he will ride,

I in my chariot will confront his speed,

Match me these four white coursers Greece hath tried;

These, fair Andromache doth mornly feed,

   With her white hand, with bread of purest wheat,

   And waters them with wine still when they eat.



Xanthus, Podargus, Lampus, Aethon, dear

To Hector, you my armèd coach shall draw,

And, in this fierce exposure, shall appear

Before the best steeds that the sun e’er saw.

But all Greece cannot match your swift career;

Not Diomedes’ steeds, that fed on raw

   And mangled limbs, that in their mangers bleed,

   Can equal you in courage or in speed.



Hector’s steeds



Therefore, I’ll cease that odds, and once again,

Leaving the kings, to common men I turn.

Among such clusters growing on this plain,

In no warm breast doth so much valour burn

But shall so many showers of blood still rain

On Simois’ bank? So many widows mourn

   For their slain lords? So many children cry

   For their poor fathers that here slaughtered die?



If not for love of honour, in despair

Methinks someone our puissance should accost;

For not two souls, that here assembled are,

Shall ’scape the fury of our Trojan host.

Death and devouring ruin shall not spare

One of your infinites. You are engrossed

   All on Destruction’s file. Then, let some Greek

   Despairing life a death with honour seek.



Yields our besiegèd town a nobler spirit

Than sixty assembled kingdoms can produce,

That none dares interpose his hostile merit,

But all put off this combat with excuse?

Among such infinites, will none inherit

A name with us? Fears Greece our hand shall sluice

   Their universal blood, that fear can slave

   So many legions with one Hector’s brave?



I beg it of you, Greeks: let some forth stand

To try what puissance lies in Hector’s sword.

If I be foiled by his all-daring hand,

The Spartan Helen shall be soon restored,

And all the spoils brought from the fertile land

Of Cythera made good, and he adorned

   With these ennobled arms, the sword and crest

   Of Hector, honours more than all the rest.



If I subdue your champion, Greece in peace

Shall ease our burdened earth of this huge weight;

Hostility between our hosts shall cease;

You, with your men and arms, your ships shall freight,

And from our blood-stained soil free this large press.

So shall illustrate Hector reach his height,

   When th’universal world hath understood

   Hector gaged his, to save his city’s blood.



O let it not in aftertimes be said

Twice thirty kingdoms could not one man find,

Prince, knight or swain, durst equally invade

A Trojan prince in arms and height of mind;

Nor let succeeding time the Greeks upbraid

To hear such lofty spirits so soon declined.

   Behold, here stand I to abide the rage

   Of his armed hand that dares but touch our gage.”



These words thus breathed, a general shout is given

Through all the Trojan army, which aspires

And strikes against the marble floors of heaven,

Where fixèd are ten thousand sparkling fires.

The heart of whole Greece is asunder riven;

Rude tumult springs out of their strange desires;

   A confused murmur flies along the shore,

   Which to the Trojans’ ears the calm winds bore.



The eager soldiers mutiny. Some say:

“O would the kings and dukes were not in place,

Our darts through Hector’s cuirass should make way.

But common men must not the peers disgrace.”

The rage-burnt kings their furies cannot stay.

They fix their fired eyes in each other’s face.

   Yet none presumes the gauntlet up to take,

   When thus the younger of th’Atrides spake:



“Is it my lot all Grecia to excuse,

Greece that far from these powers hath congregated?

Shall peasant cowardice the camp abuse,

Whilst Menelaus lives a king instated?

It shall not! What these princes all refuse,

I will take up. The cause shall be debated

   ’Twixt me and Hector for the general host―

   And reason, since the cause concerns me most.”



With that he seized the gage, when his great brother,

Blaming his rashness, makes him let it fall.

And now the warlike kings, eying each other,

The Spartan’s words moved fury in them all.

Their shame and rage they can no longer smother.

About the gauntlet they begin new brawl.

   Toward the ground nine royal princes bend,

   And for great Hector’s gage at once contend.



The archduke first, then great Andremon’s son,

Thoas, King Diomed, King Idomen,

Ajax the strong, surnamèd Telamon,

Ajax Oileus, Eurypylus, and then

The warlike Ithacan, that always won

The praise for eloquence ’bove other men,

   Ulysses, King Meriones, all these

   Stoop to the earth, and would the gauntlet seize.



T’appease their wrath, thus Nestor doth devise

Three several lots into some helm to throw,

And that bold prince whose hand extracts the prize,

Between the armies to assault the foe.

The lots are made, and all with ardent eyes

Into the general’s cask inject them so.

   Achilles was not there; till word was sent

   Whose the lot was, that day he kept his tent.



The soldiers that had proved great Hector’s might

Pray to the gods the combat’s chance may fall

To Ajax Telamon, that he might fight

With Hector for the Greeks in general.

If not on warlike Ajax, it may light

On warlike Diomed, broad set and tall;

   Or if not these, yet to appease his rage,

   Great Agamemnon may the battle wage.



The heralds from the general’s helmet drew

The first inscription, which being known, was laid

At Ajax’ foot. The prince the paper knew,

Glad of his lot―as all the soldiers prayed.

The kings retired. Only stern Ajax grew

Near to Dardanian Hector, naught dismayed.

   Armed at all points, he struts upon the plain,

   Like angry Mars, after an army slain.



His shape was huge, his presence full of fear;

An angry tempest sat upon his brow;

A sanguine plume doth from his helm appear,

Which double arms his back, and seems to bow

Beneath his bases; armed with such a spear

His right hand was, that none can disallow;

   Athwart his breast a purple baldric fell,

   Bearing a sword, which many had sent to hell.



The scabbard crimson velvet, richly embossed

And chapped with gold; upon the hilt was graved

The battle of the Centaurs, who were lost

In that fierce war, and whom the conflict saved.

This sword was agèd Telamon’s and cost

A city’s prize, the bright blade had been laved

   In many bosoms, many princes’ bloods;

   The handle was stuck round with golden studs.



The pommel weighed a talent, rarely wrought

With artful modules on that curious round.

Grim Achelous with Alcides fought,

And there in all his Proteus shapes was found.

Thither the prize, fair Deianir’, was brought

And placed aloft; beneath her, those that sound

   Unto the dreadful charge, with clarions shrill,

   Sit with swollen cheeks their lofty pipes to fill.



The combat ’twixt Achelous and Hercules



Such art th’enchaser showed, to mock the eye,

That some would think their reeds did music yield.

There sat the king, her father, throned on high,

With him his peers, and round about the field,

Th’unruly multitude still pressing nigh

The bounded lists, to see their champions wield

   Their dreadful arms, and who the prize can win,

   One with a club armed, and a lion’s skin,



The other with his godhood and his power

To change himself to shapes of strange disguise.

Sometimes, he seems a dragon to devour

His rival prince, who doth his art despise,

For on his head his club falls like a tower;

Next like a fire into his face he flies,

   All which the noble champion cannot tame,

   For with a club he straight beats out the flame.



Then like a grim, mad bull, the half-god raves,

And with his horns Alcides thinks to gore.

But he, contemning such enchanted braves,

Flies to his head, and with his rude hands tore

One horn quite off―at this the workman grieves.

The conquered bull in falling seems to roar.

   Four nymphs descend from a fair sacred hill,

   And this rich horn with flowers and fruits they fill,



Which of the horn of plenty still bears name.

This and much more the high-prized pommel bears.

A finer tempered blade, or of more fame,

By his proud side, no princely soldier wears.

With this, armed Ajax to the combat came,

And singly to the Dardan prince appears.

   On his left arm a ponderous targe he bare,

   Quilted with seven oxhides all tanned with hair.






Tycheus was the currier dressed those hides,

Best of his trade that dwelt on Hyla then.

Accoutred thus, strong Ajax with huge strides

Stalks in the field before the best of men,

And fixing his bold foot, boldly h’abides,

Confronting him. The Argive army, when

   They saw the Salamine prince bear him so proud,

   Their souls rejoiced, their hearts his lot allowed.



Priamides, that never was afraid

Of aught save fear, his combatant thus greets:

“O thou, whose presence to my soul is made

More pleasing than the most delicious sweets,

Let me partake his name, who undismayed,

In such fair equipage, great Hector greets,

   For since mine eyes first knew Apollo’s light,

   I never saw a more accomplished knight,



Nor one whose presence better pleased mine eye.

Although my foe, I’ll give thee all thy due.

If courage suit, by shape I can espy

No blemish in thee. Either let me view

Thy open helm, or else thy name descry.”

When stormy Ajax up his beaver drew,

   And thus replied: “The helmet I had on

   Obscured the face of Ajax Telamon.



And, cousin Hector, know I am the least

Of many that our spacious camp contains,

Who to thy fury dare oppose their crest,

And on even language charge thee on these plains.

We come to fight, not brawl, then do thy best,

The strongest hate, that in thy bosom reigns,

   Pour on my shield; destruction be my share

   If with my sword or spear I Hector spare.”



Gramercies, coz,” the Trojan hero spake,

“Thou lov’st me best to lay it soundly on.

These noble thoughts, thy mixèd birth did take

From us of Troy, and not from Telamon.

Our Dardan blood, thou in thy arm doest shake.

But when thou fearest, thy mother’s heat is gone,

   And only that remains to chill thy heart,

   Which Troy disclaims, and yields Greece as her part.



And, would to Jove I knew where that blood ran

Unto those veins I would direct my spear,

And those in which our kindred first began,

My hate should spare, as blood to Hector dear.

Come, noble Ajax, bear thee like a man,

And one of Hector’s kinsmen, scorning fear.

   Fear is a word in Troy not understood,

   A banished exile from all Priam’s blood.



More, I could wish that I might prove my rage

On some whose vein no Trojan moisture guides,

Thetis’ armed son, whose heat we must assuage,

Thetides, or the elder of the Atrides

Save these lives, none can equal conflict wage

With Hector. But behold, our fury rides

   On Horror’s wings, our blood is up and high,

   Then guard thee, coz, my javelin now must fly.”



His words and spear together cleave the air,

The golden-headed staff as lightning flew,

And like the swiftest courier makes repair

Whither t’was sent, and doth his message true.

Ajax’ huge shield hath interposed the bare,

Which Hector’s agitations still pursue.

   Through six tough hides, it pierced without respect,

   But the sharp point upon the seventh was checked.



The combat betwixt Ajax and Hector



Ajax then shakes his javelin, forth it flies,

And through the plates of Hector’s target pierces;

The toughest metal that the anvil tries

Must at his force relent. A thousand hearses

His rage hath filled, and now the prince applies

His universal power; fury disperses

   Through all his veins, which to one force united,

   No wonder Hector was so well requited.



The combat is begun, which to descry

To their full virtues doth surpass my skill.

Their blows so swift are they deceive the eye.

The least of thousands are of power to kill;

At advantageous places they soon spy;

Both seas and shores, with their loud strokes, sound shrill,

   Were never heard such blows, so sound, so thick,

   Or seen such wards, so cunning and so quick,



Such that, save Hector and blunt Ajax, none

On earth could equal, then much less exceed.

These two heroic spirits, spent and gone,

To rival them, no age the like can breed,

Nor marvel though these two excelled alone,

They being both derived from god-like seed,

   In whom th’imperial deities contended,

   In two such men to have two hosts defended.



Infinite charges pass from either side;

From either part their nimble javelins sing.

Both fix their bold feet, and such storms abide

As with their force tempestuous fury bring,

Even till their noble bloods the verdure dyed.

With echoing rage their vaulted helmets ring,

   Whose deafening clangour from the field rebound

   Through the best arches of Troy’s marble town.



Their spears being shivered in the empty air,

The truncheons swelling from their hands they take.

With interchange of heat, they madly fare,

Till the tough oak even to their gauntlets break.

And now, their hands unserviceably bare,

For their bright swords their cracked staves they forsake:

   Behold their wrestling steels contend on high,

   And tug for honour in the empty sky.



With lightning such as Jove’s incensements breed,

Swifter than thought or sight, their furies meet.

Both seeming doubly armed, with such quick speed

Their bright swords guard them round, from head to feet.

Their trusty armours stand them much in steed, 

For with such wounding strokes their casks they greet,

   So full of horror, that both armies wonder

   How earth-bred men should make such Jovial thunder.



The invincible Dardanian with one stroke

Raught Ajax’ beaver, and unplumed his head;

The steely clasp, divinely wrought, it broke,

Which in the Salmin duke stern fury bred,

Who striving now the Dardan prince to yoke,

His spleen and powerful sword together sped;

   The point to Hector’s breasted armour flew,

   And from his bulk vermilion drops it drew.



The Trojan grows inflamed, the Argive proud

To see his bright skene in such blood imbrued.

Th’invaders shout, and lift their cries aloud

To see their champion with such power indued.

For this, great Hector in his soul hath vowed

Sudden revenge; he grows more fierce and rude:

   His sword plied Ajax’ helm, yet shining bright,

   As Cyclops’ hammers on their anvils light.



So well ’twas tempered, and his strength so high

That his tough-metalled blade in pieces flew.

At selfsame instant, Ajax ’gan apply

His trusty steel, and close to Hector grew.

But as he thus pronounced, “Now, Hector, die,”

And heaves his arm aloft to make it true,

   His sword upon his cask fell as he spake,

   And with the force close by the handle brake.



The champions both disarmèd save their shields,

First Hector with his eye doth round inquire,

And finds a scattered rock left in the fields,

Never till then removed. Now all on fire,

To avenge his wound, what no man else could wield

His mind ’bove mortal puissance ’gins t’aspire—,

   His puissant arm advanceth at the last,

   And the huge mass he towards Ajax cast.



He takes it on his shield, but with the power

Of his compareless strength, the seven tough hides

Were all-too crushed and bruised. He thinks some tower

Of archèd stone from his high structure slides,

Him to entomb alive, and to devour.

Down drops his targe to earth, and he abides

   Astonished for a space; at length his eye

   Glanced on a young tall oak that grew fast by,



Whose sinewy strings, with shaking to and fro,

He soon unloosed, and by the earth uptears,

And, waving ’bove his helmet, with one blow

Seeks to give end to all the Dardan’s fears.

Should it fall steady, he should lie full low.

The threatening oak still in the air appears,

   Menacing vengeance, but before it light,

   Here breathe my muse, and cheer thy travelled sprite.


[Heywood’s endnotes to canto XII]

Achilles, his concealment of his sex in the court of Lycomedes. Ovid thus writeth:

De Arte Amandi, I


Now, from another world, doth sail with joy

A welcome daughter to the king of Troy.

The whilst, the Grecians are already come,

Moved with that general wrong ’gainst Ilium.

Achilles in a smock his sex doth smother,

And lays the blame upon his careful mother.

What makest thou, great Achilles, teasing wool,

When Pallas in a helm should clasp thy skull?

What doth these fingers with fine threads of gold,

Which were more fit a warlike shield to hold?

Why should that right hand rock or tow contain,

By which the Trojan Hector must be slain?

Cast off thy loose veils, and thy armour take,

And in thy hand the spear of Pelion shake.

Thus lady-like, he with a lady lay,

Till what he was her belly must bewray.

Yet was she forced—so should we all believe—;

Not to be forced so, now her heart would grieve.

When he should rise from her, still would she cry,

—For he had armed him, and his rock laid by—,

And with a soft voice speak: “Achilles, stay.

It is too soon to rise; lie down, I pray,”

And then the man that forced her, she would kiss—

What force, Deidamia, call you this?






Achilles and Deidamia


Automedon was Achilles’ charioteer, and squire to Pyrrhus, whose skill Ovid remembers: 

Ovid, De Arte Amandi, lib. I

By art of sail and oar, seas are divided,

By art the chariot runs, by art love’s guided,

By art are bridles reined in, or let slip;

Tiphys by art did steer th’Haemonian ship,

And times succeeding shall call me alone

Love’s expert Tiphys and Automedon. 


The reason why Achilles kept his tent and was not in the field when Hector breathed his challenge is not fully resolved: some think he was discontent about a difference betwixt the General Agamemnon and him, who kept away perforce Briseis, a beauteous lady, claimed by Achilles as his prize, which we rather follow in our history, than to lay his absence on his love to Polyxena, whom he had not yet seen, and the promise which for her sake he made to Hecuba to keep himself and his Myrmidons from the battle. 




Achelous was son to Oceanus and Tellus, viz. the sea and the earth whence all rivers are derived, who being vanquished by Hercules, hid himself in the river called of himself Achelous, a famous flood in Greece dividing Aetolia from Acarnania. This Achelous was before called Thoas, and riseth from the mount Pindus, but Plutarch calleth it Thestius, of Thestius the son of Mars and Pisidice, who had three daughters, Callirhoe, Castalia and Dirce, of whom the famous Greek poet: 

Strabo, X

Plutarch, lib. de fluminibus

Euripides, in Bacchis

Akeloou thugater … diska, etc.

O Acheloi filia, veneranda virgo Dirce


The floods of Achelous were so famous that all the waters used in the divine sacrifices were by the oracle called Aquae Acheloae.

Herodotus in Euterpe

The poets fain him to trans-shape himself in a bull because rivers plough the earth as oxen make furrows, or because bulls draw near to the brinks of rivers when they bellow for fresh pasture, else because waters breaking violently through any fall make a confused noise like the roarings of many bulls together. He was called a dragon by his many indented windings and turnings.


Hercules, being leagued with King Oeneus, undertook to suppress this raging river, whose many inundations had much damaged his kingdom, who extenuating his main stream by enforcing it into many rivulets, by that means made the country more fertile, therefore it was moralized that Hercules, breaking off his horn, received in the same all fruits of plenty.

Strabo, X

To this cornucopia or horn of abundance, Jupiter gave this property that whosoever held it and wished should receive according to their desire the rarities of the most choice fruits and wines of all kinds, how delicious soever to taste the palate.

Xanthus in rebus Etolicis

This virtue was first proved by Amalthea, daughter to Haemonius, King of Aetolia, though some take Amalthea to be the goat that nursed Jupiter with her milk, when Rhea had given him to be brought up by to Adrastea and Ida.

Hermogenes, lib. de Phrygia


Back to Canto XII (1-50)

Notes to Canto XII 

On to Canto XIII (1-50)

How to cite

Patricia Dorval, ed., 2016.  Troia Britanica Canto XII (1609).  In A Dictionary of Shakespeare's Classical Mythology: A Textual Companion, ed. Yves Peyré (2009-).


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