'As done: perseverance keeps honour bright: That one by one pursue; if you give way That flightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand; Grafps in the comer; Welcome ever smiles, ‹ And Farewel goes out fighing. O let not virtue seek For beauty, wit, high birth, desert in service, One touch of nature makes the whole world kin; * Than t Than what not stirs. The cry went once for thee, And still it might, and yet it may again, If thou would'st not entomb thy felf alive, And cafe thy reputation in thy tent; Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late Achil. Of my privacy I have strong reasons. Ulyf. '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. Ha! known! Uly. Is that a wonder? The providence that's in a watchful state, But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, t went out on thee. u him. Fare Farewel, my lord ----I, as your lover, speak; Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you; A woman, impudent and mannish grown, Is not more loath'd than an effeminate m an In time of act. Iftand condemn'd for this; They think my little ftomach to the war, And your great love to me, restrains you thus: 'Oh rouse your self; and the weak wanton Cupid • Shall from your neck unloose his am'rous fold, And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be fhook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector! - Patr. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him. My fame is fhrewdly gor❜d. Patr. O then beware: Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves: Omiffion to do what is neceffary Seals a commiffion to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, fubtly taints Even then when we fit idly in the sun. Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus: To fee great Hector in the weeds of peace, [Exit. SCENE Ther. A wonder! Achil. What? SCENE. IX. Enter Therfites. Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. Ther. He must fight fingly to-morrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in faying 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 his head, if 'twou'd out; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not fhew without knocking. The man's undone for ever: for if Hector break not his neck i'th' combat, he'll break❜t himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, good morrow Ajax. And he replies, thanks Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general? he's grown a very land-fifh, language-less, a monster. A plague of opinion, a man may wear it on both fides, like a leather jer kin. Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who I?---- why he'll answer no body; he professes not anfwering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall fee the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure fafe conduct for his perfon of the magna magnanimous and moft illuftrious, fix or feven times honour'd captain, general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this. Patr. Jove blefs great Ajax. Ther. Hum--- Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles. Ther. Ha! Patr. Who most humbly defires you to invite Hector to his tent. Ther. Hum Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon. Ther. Agamemnon! --- Patr. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What fay 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 a clock it will go one way or other; howfoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, Sir. Ther. Fare ye well with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out a tune thus; what musick will be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not. But I am fure none; unless the fidler Apollo get his finews to make Catlings on. Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me carry another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature. Achil. My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd, And I my self fee not the bottom of it. [Exit. 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 [Exeunt. ACT |