To match us in Comparisons with Dirt,.
To weaken and difcredit our expofure,
How rank foever rounded in with danger.
Uly. They tax our Policy, and call it Cowardife,
Count Wisdom as no Member of the War
Fore-ftall our Prefcience, and efteem no A&,
But that of Hand: The ftill and mental Parts,
That do contrive how many Hands shall strike
When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
Of their obfervant Toil, the Enemies weight,
Why this hath not a Finger's dignity;
They call this Bed-work, Mapp'ry, Closet-War;
So that the Ram, that batters down the Wall,
For the great fwing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his Hand that made the Engine,
Or thofe that with the fineness of their Souls,
By Reason guide his Execution.
Neft. Let this be granted, and Achilles Horse
Makes many Thetis' Sons.
Aga. What Trumpet? Look Menelaus.
Aga. What would you 'fore our Tent?
Ane. Is this great Agamemnon's Tent, I pray you?
Aga. Even this.
Ane. May one that is a Herald and a Prince,
Do a fair Meffage to his Kingly Ears?
Aga. With furety ftronger than Achilles Arm,
'Fore all the Greekifh Heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon Head and General.
Ane. Fair leave, and large fecurity. How may
A ftranger to those most Imperial Looks,
Know them from Eyes of other Mortals?
Aga. How?
Ane. Ay: I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And on the Cheek be ready with a blush
Modeft as Morning, when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:
Which is that God in Office, guiding Men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Aga. This Trojan scorbs us, or the Men of Troy Are ceremonious Courtiers.
Ane. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm❜d, As bending Angels; that's their Fame, in peace: But when they would feem Soldiers, they have Galls, Good Arms, ftrong Joints, true Swords, and Jove's accord, Nothing fo full of Heart. But peace, Eneas, Peace Trojan, lay thy Finger on thy Lips, The worthiness of Praise diftains his worth, If that he prais'd himself, bring the Praise forth: What the repining Enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that Praise fole pure tranfcends. Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you your felf, Æneas ? Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my Name.
Aga. What's your Affair, I pray you?
Ene. Sir, pardon, 'tis for Agamemnon's Ears.
Aga. He hears nought privately
That comes from Troy.
Ane. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him, I bring a Trumpet to awake his Ear,
To fet his Senfe on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Aga. Speak frankly as the Wind,
It is not Agamemnon's fleeping hour;
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.
Ane. Trumpet blow loud:
Send thy brafs Voice thro' all these lazy Tents,
And every Greek of Mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, fhall be fpoke aloud.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy,
A Prince call'd Hector, Priam is his Father:
Who in this dull and long continu'd Truce
Is rufty grown, he bad me take a Trumpet,
And to this purpofe fpeak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'ft of Greece,
That holds his Honour higher than his Eafe,
That feeks his Praife, more than he fears his Peril,
That knows his Valour, and knows not his Fear,
That loves his Miftrefs more than in Confeffion,
(With truant Vows to her own Lips he loves)
And dare avow her Beauty and her Worth,
In other Arms than hers; to him this Challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it.
He hath a Lady, wifer, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his Arms,
And will to Morrow with his Trumpet call,
Midway between your Tents, and Walls of Troy,
To rowze a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Hectar fhall Honour him:
If none, he'll fay in Troy when he retires,
The Grecian Dames are Sun-burnt, and not worth
The splinter of a Lance; even fo much.
Aga. This fhall be told our Lovers, Lord Eneas.
If none of them have Soul in fuch a kind,
We have left them all at home: But we are Soldiers;
And may that Soldier a meer Recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love;
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none, I'll be he.
Neft. Tell him of Neftor; one that was a Man
When Hector's Granfire fuckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian mold,
One Nobleman, that hath one spark of Fire,
To answer for his Love; tell him from me,
I'll hide my Silver Beard in a Gold Beaver,
And in my Vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,
And meeting him, will tell him, that my Lady
Was fairer than his Grandam, and as chafte
As may be in the World; his Youth is flod,
I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of Blood.
Ane. Now Heav'ns forbid fuch scarcity of Youth,
Vlys. Amen.
Aga. Fair Lord Æneas,
Let me touch your Hand:
To our Pavillion fhall I lead you first:
Achilles fhall have word of this Intent,
So fhall each Lord of Greece from Tent to Tent:
Your felf fhall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a Noble Foe.
Manent Ulyffes and Neftor.
Vlyf. Neftor.
Neft. What fays Vlyffes?
Ulf. I have a young Conception in my Brain,
Be you my time to bring it to fome shape.
Neft. What is't?
Blunt wedges rive hard knots; the feeded Pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, muft or now be cropt,
Or, fhedding, breed a Nurfery of like evil
To over-bulk us all.
Neft, Well, and how now?
Vlyf. This Challenge that the valiant Hector fends, However it is fpread in general Name,
Relates in purpofe only to Achilles.
Neft. The purpofe is perfpicuo seven as Substance,
Whofe groffness little Characters fum up,
And in the publication make no frain:
But that Achilles, were his Brain as barren
As Banks of Lybia, tho', Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough, will with great fpeed of Judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.
Uly. And wake him to the Anfwer, think you?
Neft. Yes, 'tis moft meet; whom may you elfe oppose
That can from Hector, bring his Honour off,
If rot Achilles? Though' be a fportful Combat,
Yet in this Trial much Opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans tafte our dear'st repute
With their fin'ft Palate: And truft to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation fhall be odly poiz'd
In this wild Action. For the fuccefs,
Although particula, fhall have a fcantling
Of good or bad, unto the General:
And in fuch Indexes, although fmall Pricks
To their fubfequent Volumes, there is feen
The baby figure of the Giant-mafs
Of things to come at large. It is fuppos'd,
He that meets Hector, iffues from our choice;
And choice being mutual act of all our Souls,
Makes Merit her Election, and doth boil
As 'twere from forth us all; a Man diftill'd
Out of our Virtues; who mifcarrying,
What Heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part
To feel a ftrong Opinion to themselves,
Which entertain'd, Limbs are his Inftruments,
In no lefs working, than are Swords and Bows
Directive by the Limbs.
Vlyf. Give pardon to my Speech:
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector:
Let us, like Merchants, fhew our fowleft Wares,
And think perchance they'll fell; if not,
The luftre of the better, yet to fhew,
Shall fhew the better. Do not confent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:
For both our Honour, and our Shame in this,
Are dogg'd with two ftrange Followers.
Neft. I fee them not with my old Eyes: What are they?
Vlyf. What glory our Achilles fhares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should wear with him:
But he already is too infolent;
And we were better parch in Africk Sun
Than in the pride and falt fcorn of his Eyes,
Should he fcape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why then we did our main Opinion crush
In taint of our beft Man. No, make a Lott'ry,
And by device let blockifh Ajax draw
The fort to fight with Hector: Among our felves,
Give him allowance as the worthier Man,
For that will Phyfick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applaufe, and make him fall
His Creft, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainlefs Ajax come fafe off,
We'll drefs him up in Voices; if he fail,
Yet go we under our Opinion ftil',
That we have better Men. But hit or miss,
Our Projects life this fhape of fenfe affumes,
Ajax imploy'd, plucks down Achilles Plumes.
Neft. Now Vlyffes, I begin to relish thy advice,
And I will give a tafle of it forthwith
To Agamemnon, go we to him ftreight;
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