Which when they fall, (as being flippery standers)
The love that leaned on them, as flippery too,
Doth one pluck down another,' and together
Die in the fall. But 'tis not fo with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did poffets,
Save thefe men's looks; who do, methinks, find out Something in me not worth that rich beholding
As they have often given.
I'll interrupt his reading.
Ulyf. Now, Thetis' fon!
Here is Ulyffes.
Now, Ulyffes?
Achil. What are you reading?
Ulf. A ftrange fellow here
Writes me, that man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boaft to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection:
As when his virtues fhining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the firit giver.
Achil. This is not ftrange, Ulyffes.
The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itfelf
To other's eyes: nor doth the eye itself
(That mot pure fpirit of fenfe) behold itself
Not going from itfelf; but eyes oppofed
Salute each other with each other's form.
For fpeculation turns not to itself,
Till it hath travelled, and is married there
Where it may fee itself; this is not strange.
Ulf. I do not ftrain at the position,
It is familiar; but the author's drift;
Who, in his circumftance, exprefly proves
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Tho' in, and of him there is much confifting)
Till he communicate his parts to others;
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught,
Till he behold them formed in th' applaufe
Where they're extended; which, like an arch, re-
verberates
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
Fronting the fun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this,
And apprehended here immediately,
The unknown Ajax▬▬▬
Heavens! what a man is there? a very horse, That has he knows not what. Nature! what things there are,
Moft abject in regard, and dear in ufe?
What things again moft dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth? Now fhall we fee to-morrow
An act, that very chance doth throw upon him:
Ajax renowned! Oh heavens, what fome men do,
While fome men leave to do!
How fome men creep in skittish Fortune's hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes;
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feafting in his wantonnefs!
To fee thefe Grecian Lords! why even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breaft,
And great Troy fhrinking.
Achil. This I do believe;
For they pafled by me, as mifers do by beggars, Neither gave to me good word, nor good look: What! are my deeds forgot?
Ulyf. Time hath, my Lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion:
(A great-fized monfter of ingratitudes)
Thofe fcraps are good deeds paft, which are devoured
As faft as they are made, forgot as foon
As done perfeverance keeps honour bright:
To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
Like rusty mail in monumental mockery.
For honour travels in a ftreight fo narrow,
Where one but goes abreaft: keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand fons,
That one by one purfue; if you give way,
Or turn afide from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entered tide, they all rush by,
And leave you
and there you ly,
hindermost;
Like to a gallant horfe fallen in first rank,
For pavement to the abject rear, o'er-run
And trampled on: then what they do in prefent,
Though lefs than yours in past, must o'er-top yours.
For Time is like a fashionable host,
That flightly fhakes his parting guest by the hand;
But with his arms out-ftretched, as he would fly,
Grafps in the comer; Welcome ever finiles,
And Farewel goes out fighing. O, let not virtue feck
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit, high birth, defert in fervice,
Love, friendship, charity, are fubjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin; That all, with one confent, praife new-1
w-born gawds, Tho' they are made and moulded of things paft; And give to duft, that is a little gilt, (29) More laud than they will give to gold o'er-dufted: The prefent eye praises the present object.
(29) And go to duft, that is a little gilt,
Mre laud than guilt, o'er dufted: In this mangled condition do we find this truly fine obfervation tranfmitted in the old Folios. Mr Pope faw it was corrupt, and therefore, as I prefume, threw it out of the text; because he would not indulge his private fenfe in attempting to make fenfe of it. I owe the foundation of the amendment which I have given to the text, to the fagacity of the ingenious Dr Thirlby.
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajar;
Since things in motion fooner catch the eye,
Than what not ftirs. The cry went once for thee,
And fill it might, and yet it may again,
If thou wouldelt not entomb thyself alive,
And cafe thy reputation in thy tent;
Whofe glorious deeds, but in thefe fields of late,
Made culous miffions 'mongst the Gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.
Achil. Of my privacy
I have strong reasons.
Ulyf. 'Gainft your privacy
The reasons are more potent and heroical. 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.
Achil. Ha! known! Ulf. Is that a wonder?
The providence, that's in a watchful state,
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehenfive deep;
Keeps place with thought; and almoft, like the
Gods,
Does even our thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with which relation
Durft never meddle) in the foul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath, or pen, can give expreffure to.
All the commerce that you have had with Troy
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my Lord.
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.
But it muft grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame thall in his ifland found her trump,
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping fing,
Great Hector's fifter did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewel, my Lord-1, as your lover, speak;
The fool flides o'er the ice that you fhould break;
[Exit.
Pat. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you;
A woman, impudent and mannish grown,
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
In time of act.- -I stand condemned for this;
They think, my little ftomach to the war,
And your great love' to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from
your neck unloofe his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector!
Pat. Ay, and, perhaps, receive much honour by him.
Achil. I fee, my reputation is at stake; My fame is threwdly gored.
Pat. O then beware:
Thofe wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves
Omiflion to do what is neceffary
Seals a commiffion to a blank of danger;
And Danger, like an ague, fubtly taints
Even then, when we fit idly in the fun.
Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclust
I'll fend the fool to Ajax, and defire him
T'invite the Trojan Lords, after the combat,
To fee us here unarmed: I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am fick withal,
To fee great Hector in the weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his vifage,
Even to my full of view.-A labour faved!
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