Achil. Where, where art thou come? why, my Cheese, my Digeftion why haft thou not ferved thy felf up to my Table, fo many Meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?

Ther. Thy Commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Pair. Thy Lord, Therfites: then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy felf?

Ther. Thy Knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou may'ft tell, that know'ft.

Achil. O tell, tell.

Ther. I'll decline the whole Queftion. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus's Knower, and Patroclus is a Fcol.

Patr. You Rafcal

Ther. Peace, Fool, I have done.

Achil. He is a privileg'd Man. Proceed, Therfites. Ther. Agamemnon is a Foo!, Achilles is a Fool, Therfites is a Fool, and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is a Fool.

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a Fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a Fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Therfites is a Fool to fervé fuch a Fool, and Patroclus is a Fool pofitive.

Patr. Why am I a Fool?

Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, Diomedes, Ajax, and Chalcas.

Ther. Make that demand to thy Creator, it fuffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with no Body: Come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is fuch Patchery, fuch Jugling, and fuch Knavery all the Argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulatious Factions, and bleed to Death upon: Now the dry Serpigo on the Subject, and War and Lechery confound all.

Aga. Where is Achilles?

Pair. Within his Tent, but ill difpos'd, my Lord.
Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here.

He fent our Meffengers, and we lay by

Our Appertainments, vifiting of him:

Let

Let him be told of, left perchance he think
We dare not move the queftion of our place,
Or know not what what we are.

Patr. I fhall fo fay to him.

Vlyf. We faw him at the opening of his Tent, He is not fick.

[Exit.

Ajax. Yes, Lion-fick, fick of a proud heart: you may call it Melancholy, if you will favour the Man, but by my head, 'tis Pride; but why, why?-let him fhew us the cause. A word, my Lord. [To Agamemnon. Neft. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Vlyf. Achilles hath inveigled his Fool from him. Neft. Who, Therfites?

Vlyf. He.

Neft. Then will Ajax lack Matter, if he have loft his Argument.

Vlyf. No, you fee he is his Argument, that his his Argument, Achilles.

Neft. All the better, this Fraction is more our wish than their Faction; but it was a strong Counsel that a Fool could difunite.

Uly. The Amity that Wisdom knits not, Folly may eafily untye. Enter Patroclus.

Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him?

Uly. The Elephant hath Joints, but none for Courtefie; His Legs are Legs for neceffity, not for flight.

Patr. Achilles bids me fay, he is much forry,
If any thing more than your Sport and Pleafure,
Did move your Greatnefs, and this noble State,
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other,
But for your health and your digeftion-sake;
An after-Dinner's Breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;

We are too well acquainted with thefe Anfwers:
But his evafion wing'd thus fwift with fcorn,
Cannot outflie our Apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath, and much the reafon,
Why we afcribe it to him; yet all his Virtues,
(Not virtuously of his own part beheld)
Do in our Eyes begin to lofe their Gloss;
X 3

And

And like fair Fruit in an unwholfom Dish,
Are like to rot untakted; go and tell him,
We come to speak with him, and you fhall not fin;
If you do fay, we think him over-proud,

And under-honeft; in Self-affumption greater

Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself,
Here tend the favage Strangeness he puts on,
Difguife the holy Strength of their command,
And under write in an obferving kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lines, his ebbs, his flows; as if
The paffage and whole carriage of this Action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price fo much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an Engine
Not portable, lye under this report.
Bring Action hither, this cannot go to War:
A ftirring Dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a fleeping Gyant; tell him fo.

Pat. I fhall, and bring his anfwer presently.
Aga. In fecond Voice we'll not be fatisfied,
We come to speak with him. Vlyffes, enter you.

Ajax. What is he more than another?
Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

[Exit.

[Exit Ulyffes.

Ajax. Is he fo much? do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than I am?

Aga. No question.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his Thought, and fay, he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no lefs noble, much more gentle, and altogether more

tractable.

Ajax. Why fhould a Man be proud? How doth Pride grow? I know not what it is.

Aga. Your Mind is clearer, Ajax, and your Virtues the fairer; be that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own Glafs, his own Trumpet, his own Chronicle, and whatever Praises it felf but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praife.

Enter

Enter Ulyffes.

Ajax. I do hate a proud Man, as I hate the engendring of Toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himself: Is't not strange?

Vyf Achilles will not to the Field to Morrow.
Aga. What's his Excufe!

Uly. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the Stream of his Difpofe,
Without obfervance or respect of any,

In Will peculiar, and in Self-admiffion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Un-tent his Perfon, and thare the Air with us? Vlyf. Things fmall as Nothing, for Requests fake only He makes Important: Poffeft he is with Greatness, And fpeaks not to himself, but with a Pride That quarrels at Self-breath. Imagin'd Wrath Holds in his Blood fuch fwol'n and hot Difcourfe, That 'twixt his mental and his active Parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters 'gainft it felf; what fhould I fay? He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it Cry no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his Tent;
'Tis faid he holds you well, and will be led
At your requeft, a little from himself.

Vlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so.
We'll confecrate the Steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles; fhall the proud Lord,
That baftes his Arrogance with his own Seam,
And never fuffers matter of the World
Enter his Thoughts, fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself? Shall he be worship'd,
Of that we hold an Idol, more than he?

No, this Thrice Worthy, and Right Valiant Lord,
Muft not fo ftale his Palm, nobly acquir'd,

Nor by my Will affubjugate his Merit,

As amply Titl'd, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles.
That were to enlard his Fat, already, Pride,

And add more Coles to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

X 4

This

This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,
And fay in Thunder, Achilles go to him.

Neft. O this is well, he rubs the Vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up his Applaufe.
Ajax. If I go to him

him o'er the Face.

with my armed Fift, I'll path

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. And a be proud with me, I'll phefe his Pride; let me go to him.

Vlyf. Not for the worth that hangs upon our Quarrel.
Ajax., A paultry Infolent Fellow-

Neft. How he defcribes himself.
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Vlyf. The Raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his Humours Blood.

Aga. He will be the Physician, that should be the Patient.
Ajax. And all Men were a my Mind-

Vlyf. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. A fhould not bear it so, a fhould eat Swords first; fhall Pride carry it?

Neft. And 'twould, you'd carry half.

Vlyf. A would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, he's not yet through warm.

Neft. Force him with Praifes, pour in, pour in, his Ambition is dry.

Ulf. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Vlyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a Man--but 'tis before his Face-----

I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore should you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Uly. Know the whole World, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorfon Dog! that shall palter thus with uswould he were a Trojan.

Neft. What a Vice were it in Ajax now

Vlyf. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of Praife.

Vlyf. Ay, or furly born.