Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past: which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past; And give to dust, that is a little gilt, The present eye praises the present object : And still it might; and yet it may again, Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, And drave great Mars to faction. Achil. I have strong reasons. Of this my privacy Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical: 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters. Achil. Ulyss. Is that a wonder? Ha! known? The providence that's in a watchful state, Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. you: A woman impudent and mannish grown VOL. VI. L Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dewdrop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector? Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. Achil. I see my reputation is at stake; My fame is shrewdly gor❜d. Patr. O, then beware; Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves: Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus: I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; Ther. A wonder! Achil. What? Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. Achil. How so? Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. Achil. How can that be? Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride, and a stand: ruminates, like an hostess, that hath no arithmetick but her brain to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say-there were wit in this head, an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever: for if Hector break not his neck i' the combat, he'll break it himself in vainglory. He knows not me: I said, Goodmorrow, Ajax ; and he replies, Thanks, Agamem. non. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general? He is grown a very landfish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him, I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-orseven-times-honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. Patr. Jove bless great Ajax. Ther. Humph! Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,- Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent! Ther. Humph! Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga memnon. Ther. Agamemnon? Patr. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What say you to't? Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other: howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What musick will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature. Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd: And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant iguorance. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. Troy. A Street. Enter, at one side, ÆNEAS, and Servant with a Torch; at the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES, and Others, with Torches. Par. See, ho! who's that there? Dei. 'Tis the lord Æneas. Ene. Is the prince there in person?— Had I so good occasion to lie long, As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed-mate of my company. Dio. That's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Æneas. Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand; Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told-how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field. Ene. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce: But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute. Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy. |