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Re-enter ULYSSES.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himself: is't not strange? Vyf. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. Aga. What's his excufe?

Ulyf. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his dispose,
Without obfervance or respect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf-admillion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his perfon, and thare the air with us! Ulf. Things fmall as nothing, for request's fake only,

He makes important: he is poffefs'd with greatnefs,
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at felf-breath. Imagined worth
Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourfe,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdomed Achilles in commotion rages,

And batters down himself! what fhould I fay?
He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry, no recovery.

ga. 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.

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
We'll confecrate the steps 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 worshipped
Of that we hold an idol more than he?

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No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant Lord
Muft not fo ftale his palm, nobly acquired;
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!
Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up his applaufe!
Ajax. If I go to him---with my armed fift
I'll path him o'er the face.

ga. O no, you shall not go.

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

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

Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow----

Neft. How he defcribes himfelf!

Ajax. Can he not be fociable ?
Ulyf. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

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

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind
Ulyf. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he fhould eat fwords first: fhall pride carry it !

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

jax. I will knead him, I will make him fupple,--Neft. He is not yet through warm: (13) force

(13) Ajax. I wid knead him, I'll make him fupple, he is not yet through warm.

Neft. Force him with praifes, &c.] The latter part of A

him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition

is dry.

Uhf. My Lord, you feed too much on this dislike. Neft. Our noble general, do not do fo.

Die. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him

harm.

Here is a man---but 'tis before his face-----
I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulyf. Know the whole world he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorefon dog! that palters thus with

Would he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now---

Ulyf. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praife.

Ulyf. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.

[us--

Ulyf. Thank the heavens, Lord, thou art of fweet compofure;

Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-famed beyond, beyond all erudition;
But he that difciplined 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 Ajax; I'll not praife thy wisdom,

jax's fpeech is certainly got out of place, and ought to be affigned to Neftor, as I have ventured to tranfpofe it. Ajaz is feeding on his vanity, and boafting what he'll do to Achilles; he'll pafh him o'er the face, he'll make him eat fwords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Ulyffes flily labour to keep him up in this vein, and to this end Neftor craftily hints that Ajax is not warm yet, but muft be crammed with more flattery.

Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts.
Here's Neftor,

Inftructed by the antiquary times,

He mult, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain fo tempered,
You thould not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father?

Ulyf. Ay, my good fon.

Dio Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.

[les

Uhf. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achil
Keeps thicket; please it our great General
To call together all his ftate of war;

Fresh kings are come to Troy; to-morrow, friends,
We muft with all our main of pow'r stand fast:
And here's a Lord, come knights from east to weft,.
And cull their flower, Ajax fhall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to council, let Achilles fleep; Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw [Exeunt.

deep.

ACT III.

SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy. Enter PANDARUS and a Servant. [Mufic within.

PANDA RUS.

FRIEND! 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?
Seru. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman: I

muft needs praise him.

Serv. The Lord be praifed !

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Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. Faith, Sir, fuperficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Fandarus

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 Lordfhip are my titles.

What mufic is this?

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

Pan. Know you the musicians?

Serv. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend?

Serv. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufic,
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who fhall I command, Sir?

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

Serv. That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my Lord, who's there in perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invifible foul.

Par. Who, my roufin Crefida?

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

Pan. It fhould feem, fellow, that thou haft not feen the Lady Cretfida. I come to fpeak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental affault upon him, for my bufinefs feethes. Serv. Sodden afinefs! there's a ftewed phrafe, indeed.

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