To call for recompence: appear it to you, (28)
That, through the fight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my poffeffion,
Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself,
From certain and poffeft conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes; fequeftred from all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Made tame and most familiar to my nature :
And here, to do you fervice, am become
As new into the world, ftrange, unacquainted.
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,

To give me now a little benefit,

Out of those many registred in promife,
Which, you fay, live to come in my behalf.

Aga. What wouldft thou of us, Trojan? make demand, Cal. You have a Trojan prifoner, call'd Antenor, Yesterday took Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore ;) Defir'd my Crefid in right-great exchange, Whom Troy hath ftill deny'd: but this Antenor, I know, is fuch a wrest in their affairs, That their negociations all must slack, Wanting his manage; and they will almost Give us a Prince o'th' blood, a son of Priam, In change of him. Let him be fent, great Princes, And he shall buy my daughter: and her prefence Shall quite ftrike off all fervice I have done, In most accepted pain.

(28)

-appear it to you,

That, through the fight I bear in things to come,

66

-

I have abandon'd Troy,] Calchas is here preffing for fome reward from the Grecian princes, for his having come over to them: but does it in any kind add to his merit with them, to fay, "Gentlemen, by my power of prefcience I found my country muft be fubdued and "ruin'd; and therefore I have left house and home in time to [fave "myself, and] come and ferve you." And yet this is the drift and hinge upon which his argument turns, and his hopes and pretence for recompenfe are form'd. I own, the motives of his oratory feem to me fomewhat perverfe and unartful: nor do I know how to reconcile it, unless our Poet purposely intended to make Calchas act the part of a true prieft; and fo from motives of felf-intereft infinuate the merit of service.

Aga.

Aga. Let Diomedes bear him,

And bring us Creffid hither: Calchas shall have
What he requests of us.
Good Dicmede,

Furnish you fairly for this enterchange;
Withal, bring word, if Hector will to-morrow
Be anfwer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.
Dio. This fhall I undertake, and 'tis a burden
Which I am proud to bear.

[Exit.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent.
Uly. Achilles ftands i'th' entrance of his tent,
Please it our General to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,
Lay negligent and loofe regard upon him:
I will come laft; 'tis like, he'll queftion me,
Why fuch unplaufive eyes are bent on him?
If fo, I have decifion medicinable

To use between your ftrangeness and his pride,
Which his own will fhall have defire to drink.
It may do good: Pride hath no other glafs
To fhew itself, but pride; for fupple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.
Aga. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangenefs as we pafs along;
So do each Lord; and either greet him not,
Or elfe difdainfully, which fhall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.

Achil. What, comes the General to speak with me? You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainft Troy. Aga. What fays Achilles? would he aught with us? Neft. Would you, my Lord, aught with the General ? Achil. No.

Neft. Nothing, my Lord.

Aga. The better.

Achil. Good day, good day.

Men. How do you? how do you?

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me?

Ajax. How now, Patroclus?

Achil. Good morrow, Ajax.

Ajax. Ha?

Achil. Good morrow.

Ajax. Ay, and good next day too.

[Exeunt. Achil. What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles?

Patr. They pafs by ftrangely: they were us'd to bend, To fend their fmiles before them to Achilles,

To come as humbly as they us'd to creep

To holy altars.

Achil. What, am I poor of late?

'Tis certain, Greatnefs, once fall'n out with fortune,
Must fall out with men too: what the declin'd is,
He shall as foon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies,
Shew not their mealy wings but to the fummer;
And not a man, for being fimply man,

Hath honour, but is honour'd by those honours
That are without him; as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:

Which when they fall, (as being flipp'ry ftanders)
The love that lean'd on them, as flipp'ry 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 poffefs,

Save thefe men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
Something in me not worth that rich beholding,

As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulysses.

I'll interrupt his reading.Now, Ulyffes?
Ulyf. Now, Thetis' fon!

Achil. What are you reading?
Uly. A ftrange fellow here

Writes me, that man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boast 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 first giver.

Ahil. This is not ftrange, Ulyffes.
The beauty that is borne here in the face

The

The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To other's eyes: nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of fenfe) behold itfelf
Not going from itself; but eyes oppos'd
Salute each other with each other's form.
For fpeculation turns not to itself,

Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may fee its felf; this is not strange;
Uly. I do not ftrain at the pofition,
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' applause

Where they're extended; which, like an arch, reverb'rates
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

Heav'ns! what a man is there? a very horse,

[are,

That has he knows not what. Nature! what things there

Moft abject in regard, and dear in use?

him:

What things again most dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth? Now fhall we see to-morrow
An act, that very Chance doth throw upon
Ajax renown'd! Oh heav'ns, what some 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 feasting in his wantonnefs!
To fee thefe Grecian Lords! why ev'n already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy fhrinking.

Achil. This I do believe;

For they paffed by me, as mifers do by beggars,

Neither

Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What! are my deeds forgot?

Uly. Time hath, my Lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion :

(A great-fiz'd monster of ingratitudes)

Thofe fcraps are good deeds paft, which are devour'd
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 rufty 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 pursue; if you give way,
Or turn afide from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindermoft; and there you lie,
Like to a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
For pavement to the abject near, o'er-run
And trampled on: Then what they do in prefent,
Tho' lefs than yours in paft, muft o'er-top yours.
For Time is like a fashionable hoft,

That flightly shakes his parting gueft by th' hand;
But with his arms out-ftretch'd, as he would fly,
Grafps in the comer; Welcome ever smiles,
And Farewel goes out fighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;

For beauty, wit, high birth, desert in service,
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, praise new-born gawds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things paft ;
And give to duft, that is a little gilt, (29)

(29) And go to duft, that is a little gilt,

More laud than gilt o'er dufted.] In this mangled condition do we find this truly fine obfervation tranfmitted in the old folio's. 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 sense of it. I owe the foundation of the amendment, which I have given to the text, to the fagacity of the ingenious Dr. Thirlby.

VOL. VII.

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