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Ulys. Amen.
Aga. Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your

hand: To our Pavilion shall I lead


first: Achilles shall have word of this intent, So shall each lord of Greece from tent to tent : Yourself fhall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe. (Exeunt.

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Manent Ulysses and Nestor.

Neft. What says Ulysses?
Ulys I have a young conception in my brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

Neft. What is't?
Uly. This 'tis :
Blunt wedges rive hard knots; the seeded pride,
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, muft or now be cropt,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To over-bulk us all.

Neft. Well, and how now?
Uly). This Challenge that the gallant HeElor sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in pupose only to Achilles.

Neft. The purpose is perspicuous even as Substance, Whose grofiness little characters fum up. And, in the publication, make no ftrain, But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya, (tho', Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enongh,) will with great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hu&tor's purpose Pointing on him.

Uly. And wake him to the answer, think you? Neft. Yes, 'tis most meet; whom may you else oppose,


That can from Hedor bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a sportful combat,
Yet in this trial much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans tafte our dear'ft Repute
With their fin'st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be odly pois’d
In this wild action. For the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general:
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant-mafs
Of things to come, at large. It is suppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our Choice;
And Choice, being mutual act of all our fouls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere, from forth us all, a man distillid
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart from hence receives the conqu’ring part,
To feel a strong opinion to themselves !
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyl. Give pardon to my speech;
Therefore 'ris ineet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, thew our fouleft wares,
And think, perchance, they'll fell; if not,
The luftre of the better, yet to fhew,
Shall shew the better. Do not then consent,
That even Hector and Achilles meet :
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
Neft. I see them not with


eyes : they? Ulys. What glory our Achilles shares from He&tor, Were he not proud, we all sbould share with him: But he already is too insolent; And we were better parch in Afric Sun,


what are

Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he 'scape He&or fair. If he were foild
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a Lott'ry ;
And by divice let blockish Ajax draw
The Sort to fight with Hector : 'mongst ourselves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion till,
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of Sense assumes,
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.

Neft. Ulyses, Now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; we go to him streight;
Two curs shall tame each other ; pride alone
Muft tar the mastiffs on, as 'were their bone.




The Grecian Camp.
Enter Ajax and Therlites.


Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils--full, all over, generally.

[Talking to himself. Ajax. Therftes,

Ther. And those boils did run--fay fo-did not the General run? were not that a botchy core ? Ajax, Dog!

Ther, Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him : I see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? feel then.

(Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. * Speak then, you windyest leaven, speak; I will beat thee into handsomeness.

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book: thou canst strike, canst thou ? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Doeft thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st me thus ?

Ajax. The proclamation
Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.
Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch.

Ther. I would, thou didft itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsom'ft scab in Greece.

Ajax. I say, the proclamation

Ther. Thou grumbleft and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's Beauty: ay, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Therfites ! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf: I'her. He would pound thee into shivers with his fift, as a sailor breaks a bisket. Ajax. You whoreson cur !

[Beating him. Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch !

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord ; thou hast no more brain than I have in

my * Speak then, thou whinid's leaven,) This is the Reading of the old Copies. It should be windyeft, c.i. most windy. Warb.


elbows ; an

Asinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant afs! thou art here but to thrasha Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian flave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou !

Ajax. You dog!
Ther. You scurvy lord !
Ajax. You cur !

[Beating him. Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do,



Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil.

how now

How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You see him there, do you?

. Ay, what's the matter ?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do, what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why, I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not hiinself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters; his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of him. Achil. What?

(Ajax offers to Nrike him, Achilles internes. Vol. IX.



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