SCENE III. The Grecian Camp.
Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMED, NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS, and CALCHAS.
Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you,
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud,
To call for recompenfe. Appear it to your mind,
That, through the fight I bear in things, to Jove
I have abandon'd Troy, left my poffeffions,
Incurr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself,
From certain and poffeft conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes; fequeftring from me all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Made tame and most familiar to my nature;
And here, to do you service, am become
As new into the world, ftrange, unacquainted:
I do befeech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,
Out of thofe many regiftred in promise,
Which, you fay, live to come in my behalf.
Aga. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make
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 Creflid in right great exchange,. Whom Troy hath ftill deny'd: But this Antenor, I know, is fuch a wreft in their affairs, That their negotiations all must flack, Wanting his manage; and they will almoft Give us a prince of blood, a fon of Priam, In change of him: let him be fent, great princes, And he fhall buy my daughter; and her prefence
Shall quite ftrike off all fervice I have done,
In most accepted pain.
Aga. Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Creffid hither; Calchas fhall have
What he requests of us.-Good Diomed,
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 DIOMED, and CALCHAS.
Enter ACHILLES, and PATROCLUS, before their Tent.
Uly. Achilles ftands i' the entrance of his tent :-
Please it our general to pafs ftrangely 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 question me,
Why fuch unplaufive eyes are bent, why turn'd on
If fo, I have derifion med'cinable,
[him:
To ufe between his ftrangenefs 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 ftrangenefs as we pafs along :-
So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Or elfe difdainfully, which thall fhake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
Achil. What, comes the general to fpeak with me? You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. Aga. What fays Achilles? would he aught with
Neft. Would you, my lord, aught with the ge
Neft. Nothing, my lord.
Aga. The better.
Men. How do you? how do you?
Achil. What, does the cuckold fcorn me?
Ajax. How now, Patroclus?
Achil. Good morrow, Ajax.
Ajax. Ha!
Achil. Good-morrow.
Ajax. Ay; and good next day too.
Achil. What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles?
Patr. They pass by strangely; 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, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Must fall out with men too: What the declin’d is, He fhall 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 any honour; but's honour'd for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which, when they fall, as being flippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as flippery 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 these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out Something in me not worth that rich beholding
Here is Ulyffes;
-How now, Ulyffes?
As they have often given.
I'll interrupt his reading.-
Uly. Now, great 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 firft giver.
Achil. This is not ftrange, Ulyffes.
The beauty that is borne here in the face,
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself
(That moft pure fpirit of fenfe), behold itself,
Not going from itself, but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For fpeculation turns not to itself,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is married there
Where it may fee itself: this is not strange at all.
Uly. I do not ftrain at the position,
It is familiar; but at the author's drift:
Who, in his circumftance, exprefsly proves-
That no man is the lord of any thing
(Though in and of him there is much confifting),
Till he communicate his parts to others:
Nor doth he of himfelf know them for aught
"Till he behold them form'd in the applaufe
Where they are extended; which, like an arch, re-
The voice again; or like a gate of steel
Fronting the fun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; And apprehended here immediately
Heavens, what a man is there! a very horfe; That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are,
Most abject in regard, and dear in use!
What things again moft dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth! Now fhall we fee to-morrow
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,
Ajax renown'd.
O heavens, what fome men do,
While fome men leave to do!
How fome men creep in fkittish fortune's hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feafting in his wantonnefs!
To fee thefe Grecian lords!-why, even already,
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy fhrinking.
Achil. I do believe it! for they pass'd by me, As mifers do by beggars; neither gave to me Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot? Ulyff. 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, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
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