Uly. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. Aga. What's his excufe?

Ulyff. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance of refpect of any,
In will peculiar, and in self-admission.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Un-tent his perfon, and fhare the air with us? Ulyff. Things small as nothing, for request's fake only,

He makes important; poffefs'd he is with great nefs,

And fpeaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at felf-breath. Imagin'd worth Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot discourse, That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,

And batters down himself. What should I fav? He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it Cry, No recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his tent;
'Tis faid he holds you well, and will be led
At your request a little from himself.

Uly. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles Shall the proud lord
That baftes his arrogance with his own feam,
And never fuffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself,) fhall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he?
No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant lord
Must not so ftale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, affubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,

By going to Achilles ;

That were t' inlard his pride, already fat,

And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns `

With entertaining great Hyperion.

This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,

And fay, in thunder, Achilles, go to him!

J

Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.

[Afide.

Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applaufe!

[Afide.

Ajax. If I go to him-with my armed fist

I'll path him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese * his pride; let me go to him.

Ulyff. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow-
Neft. How he defcribes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Uly. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

t

Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that should be the patient.

Ajax. And all men were of my mind

Ulyff Wit would be out of fathion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo; he should eat fwords, firft: fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Ulyff. He would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,-
Neft. He's not yet through warm: force him with
praifes; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry..
Ulyff. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Uly. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm. Here is a man- but 'tis before his face

I will be filent.

V

Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Uly. Know the whole world he is as valiant.... Ajax. A whorefon dog! that palters thus with *Would he were a Trojan!

[us

*To pheefe is to comb or curry. The expreffion occurs in this fenfe, in the Induction to the Taming of the Shrew.

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now

Uly. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praife.

Ulyff. Ay, or farly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.

Uly. Thank the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of fweet compofare;

Praife him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition:
But he that difciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yields

To finewy Ajaz: I'll not praife thy wifdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a thore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Inftructed by the antiquary times;

He must, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain to temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father?

Neft. Ay, my good fon.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.

Uly. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Pleafe it our great General To call together all his ftate of war; Fresh kings are come to Troy; to-morrow We must with all our main of pow'r ftand fast; And here's a lord: come knights from east to west, And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the best.. Agam Go we to council, let Achilles fleep; Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw [Excunt.

21

deep.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Paris's Apartments in the Palace in Troy.

Enter Pandarus and a fervant. [Mufic within.

Friend

Pandarus.

Riend! you! pray you a word. Do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

Serv. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan You do depend upon a noble gentleman; I muft needs praise him,

Serv. The Lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. Faith, Sir, fuperficially

Pan. Friend, know me better. I am the Lord Pandarus

Serv. I hope I fhall know your honour better. Pan. I do defire it.

Serv. You are in the ftate of grace.

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend. Honour and Lord*hip are my titles.

What mufic is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufic in

parts.

Pan. You know the musicians?

Serv. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleature, friend?

Serv. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufic.

Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. What fhall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another. I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose requeft do thefe men play?

Serv. That's to't, indeed, Sir. Marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my Lord, who is there in person;

with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's visible foul.

Pan. Who, my coufin Creffida?

Serv. No, Sir, Helen. Could you not find out that by her attributes?

Pan. It should feem, fellow, that thou haft not feen the Lady Creffida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimen tal affault upon him, for my bufinefs feethes. Serv. Sodden bufinefs! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair company! fair defires in all fair measure fairly guide them; efpecially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear Lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You fpeak your fair pleasure, fweet Queen. Fair Prince, here is good broken music.

Par. You have broken it, coufin, and, by my life, you fhall make it whole again; you fhall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, Lady, no.

Helen. O, Sir

Pan. Rude, in footh; in good footh, very rude. Par. Well faid, my Lord; well, you fay fo in fits *.

Pan. I have bufinefs to my Lord, dear Queen. My Lord, will you vouchfafe me a word?

Helen. Nay, this fhall not hedge us out; we'll hear you fing, certainly.

Pan. Well, fweer Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord. -My dear Lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus

• I muft frankly own I can fee no meaning in thefe words. Poffibly the poet might write, Well, you fay fo in jeft. Revifal.

VOL. IX.

Z