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Not her own finews. To end a tale of length,

Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
Neft. Moft wifely hath Ulyffes here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power is fick.

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulyffes,
What is the remedy?

Uly. The great Achilles,-whom opinion crowns
The finew and the forehand of our host,-
Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent

Lies mocking our defigns: With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day

Breaks fcurril jefts;

And with ridiculous and aukward action
(Which, flanderer, he imitation calls,)

He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;

And, like a strutting player,-whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and found
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,-
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd,
Would feem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
From his deep cheft laughs out a loud applause;
Cries-Excellent!-'tis Agamemnon just.—
Now play me Neftor;-hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being 'dreft to fome oration.

That's done;-as near as the extremeft ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent!

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'Tis Neftor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.

And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit,
And with a palfy-fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet :-and at this fport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, O!-enough, Patroclus ;-
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all

In pleasure of my fpleen. And in this fashion
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or fpeech for truce,
Succefs, or lofs, what is, or is not, ferves
As ftuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Neft. And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulyffes fays, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect.
Ajax is grown felf-will'd; and bears his head
In fuch a rein, in full as proud a place

As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feafts; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle: and fets Therfites

(A flave, whofe gall coins flanders like a mint,)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;

To weaken and difcredit our expofure,
How rank foever rounded in with danger.

Uly. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice;
Count wisdom as no member of the war;

Foreftall prescience, and esteem no act

But that of hand: the ftill and mental parts,-
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure
Of their obfervant toil, the enemies' weight,-

Why,

Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:

They call this-bed-work, mappery, closet war:
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or thofe, that with the fineness of their fouls
By reafon guide his execution.

Neft. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horfe
Makes many Thetis' fons.

Agam.

[Trumpet founds. What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

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Ene. May one, that is a herald, and a prince, Do a fair meffage to his kingly ears?

Agam. With furety stronger than Achilles' arm 'Fore all the Greekith heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general.

Ene. Fair leave, and large fecurity. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks

Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Agam.

Ene. Ay;

I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:

How?

Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ?

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Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers.

Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,

As bending angels; that's their fame in peace :
But when they would feem foldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, ftrong joints, true fwords; and, Jove's ac
cord,

Nothing fo full of heart. But peace, Æneas,

Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends,

That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends,

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Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Æneas?

What's your affair, I pray you?

Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Agam.

Ene. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes from Troy.

Ene. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him;

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear;

To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Agam.

Speak frankly as the wind;

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour :

That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.

Ene.
Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brafs voice through all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.

[Trumpet founds.

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,)

Whe

Who in this dull and long-continued truce
Is rufty grown; he bade me take a trumpet,
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!
If there be one, among the fair'ft of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease;

That feeks his praise more than he fears his peril ;
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear;
That loves his mistress more than in confession,
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers,-to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,
He hath a lady, wifer, fairer, truer,

Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call,
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy,
To roufe a Grecian that is true in love:
If any come, Hector fhall honour him;
If none, he'll fay in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are fun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

Agam. This fhall be told our lovers, lord Æneas;
If none of them have foul in fuch a kind,
We left them all at home: But we are foldiers;
And may that foldier a mere recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

Neft. Tell him of Neftor, one that was a man
When Hector's grandfire fuck'd: he is old now;
But, if there be hot in our Grecian hoft

One noble man, that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love, Tell him from me,-

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