Ther. I fay, this Ajax Achil. Nay, good Ajax. Ther. Has not fo much wit- Ther. As will flop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool! Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the fool will not: he there, that he, look you there. Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall Achil. Will you fet your wit to a fool's ? Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will fhame it. Achil. What's the quarrel? Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me, Ther. I ferve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I ferve here voluntary. Achil. Your laft fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an imprefs. -a great deal of your wit too lies else there be liars. Hector fhall if he knock out either of your good crack a fufty nut with no Ther. Evin foin your finews, or have a great catch, brains; he were as kernel. Achil. What, with me too, Therfites? Ther. There's Ulyffes and old Neftor, (whofe wit was mouldy* ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes.) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough the wair. up Achil. What! what! Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles ! to, Ajax! toAjax. I fhall cut out your tongue. Ther. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou afterwards. Ere their Grandfires] We should read, ere your Grandfires. Pat. Pat. No more words, Therfites. Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will fee you hang'd like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the faction of fools. Pat. A good riddance. [Exit. Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft, That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun, Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy, Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt. Changes to Priam's Palace in Troy. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus. Pri. AFTER fo many hours, lives, fpeeches spent, Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks: Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe (As honour, lofs of time, travel, expence, Wounds, friends, and what elfe dear that is confum'd In hot digeftion of this cormorant war) Shall be truck off. Hector, what fay you to't? He&t. Though no man leffer fear the Greeks than I, As far as touches my particular, yet There is no lady of more fofter bowels, More fpungy to fuck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out, who knows what follows? C 2 Than Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety, Troi. Fie, fie, my brother: Weigh you the worth and honour of a King. (So great as our dread father) in a scale Of common ounces? will you with counters fum And buckle in a waste moft fathomless, As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame! Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are fo empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great fway of his affairs with reasons ; Because your speech hath none, that tells him fo? Troi. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother Priest, You fur your gloves with reafons. Here are your reasons. You know, an enemy intends you harm; Or like a ftar disorb'd !—Nay, if we talk of reason, Should Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect Hed. Brother, fhe is not worth what he doth coft The holding. Troi. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? Hed. But value dwells not in particular will; As well wherein 'tis precious of itself, * Without fome image of th' affected's merit. Because we now are full. It was thought meet, Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the morning. Without fome image of th' affected Merit.] We fhould read, Is the worth keeping? why, fhe is a pearl, wifdoms rate, And do a deed that fortune never did, Beggar that eftimation which you priz'd Pri. What noife, what fhriek is this? Troi. 'Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice. Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans ! Het. It is Caffandra... Enter Caffandra, with her hair about her ears. Caf. CRX RY, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes, Het. Peace, fifter, peace. Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old, Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry, Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes [Exit. Hed. |