the vengeance on the whole camp! "or, rather, the "bone-ach! for that, methinks, is the curfe dependant "on those that war for a placket." I have faid my prayers! and devil, Envy, fay amen. What ho! my lord Achilles !

Enter Patroclus.

Pat. Who's there? Therfites? Good Therfites, come in and rail.

The. If I could have remember'd a gilt counterfeit, thou would't not have flipt out of my contemplation: but it is no matter, thyself upon thyfelf! The common curfe of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and difcipline come not near thee! "Let thy blood be thy direction " 'till thy death! then if fhe, that lays thee out, says, "thou art a fair corfe, I'll be fworn and fworn upon't, "fhe never shrouded any but lazars. Amen." Where's Achilles?

Pat. What, art thou devout? waft thou in prayer? The. Ay; the heavens hear me !

Enter Achilles.

Ach. Who's there?

Pat. Therfites, my lord.

Ach. Where, where ?-Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digeftion, why haft thou not ferv'd thyself in to my table fo many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon ? The. Thy commander, Achilles.-Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Pat. Thy lord, Therfites: Then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyself?

The. Thy knower, Patroclus: Then tell me, Patroclus. what art thou?

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

Ach. O, tell, tell.

The. I'll decline the whole queftion. Agamemnon commands Achilles Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool.

Therfites aims much at the ludicrous, but is a little too licentious in fome of his ideas, and therefore should be occafionally retrenched.

Pat. You rafcal!

The. Peace, fool; I have not done.

Ach. He is a privileg'd man.-Proceed, Therfites. The. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Therfites is a fool; and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is a fool. Ach. Derive this; come.

The. Agamemnon is a fool, to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon ; Therfites is a fool to ferve fuch a fool; and Patroclus is a fool pofitive t.

Pat. Why am I a fool?

The. Make that demand of thy Creator; it fuffices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ?

Enter Agamemnon, Neftor, Ulyffes, Diomedes,

and Ajax.

Ach. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with nobody:-Come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit.

The. Here is fuch patchery, fuch juggling, and fuch knavery! all the argument is-a cuckold, and a whore; a good quarrel, to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry ferpigo on the fubject! and war and letchery confound all. [Exit.

Aga. Where is Achilles?

Pat. Within his tent; but ill-difpos'd, my lord. Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here. He fent us meffengers; and we lay by

Our appertainments, vifiting of him:

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

Pat. I fhall fo fay to him.

Uly. We faw him at the op'ning of his tent, He is not fick.

[Exit.

Aja. Yes, lion-fick, fick of a proud heart you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by

This converfation gives a mcft whimfical idea of thefe reputed great men; though by no means inconfiftent with the character, page 175, which Ulyffes gives of Achilles and Patroclus, "breaking fcurril "jefts," &c.

VOL. VI.

K

my

my head, 'tis pride; but why, why? let him fhew us a cause.-A word, my lord.

[Drawing Agamemnon apart.

Nef. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Uly. Achilles hath inveigl'd his fool from him.
Nef. Who? Therfites?

Uly. He.

Nef. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have loft his argument.

Uly. No: you fee, he is his argument, that has his argument; Achilles.

Nef. All the better; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction: But it was a ftrong compofure, a fool could difunite.

Uly. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may eafily untye. Here comes Patroclus.

Re-enter Patroclus.

Nef. No Achilles with him.

Uly. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; His legs are for neceffity, not for flexure.

Pat. Achilles bids me fay-he is much forry, If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness, and this noble state, To call upon him; he hopes, it is no other, But, for your health and your digestion fake. An after-dinner's breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus ;

We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evafon, wing'd thus fwift with scorn,
Cannot out-fly our apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath; and much the reason,
Why we afcribe it to him: yet all his virtues,
Not virtuously on his own part beheld,-
Do, in our eyes, begin to lofe their glofs;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholsome dish,
Are like to rot untafted. Go, and tell him,
We come to speak with him: And you shall not fin,
If you do fay we think him over-proud,
And under-honeft; in felf-affamption greater,

Th

Than in the note of judgment: and worthier than him

felf

Here tend the favage ftrangeness he puts on;
Disguise the holy ftrength of their command,
And underwrite in an obferving kind

His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettilh lunes, 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, lie under this report-
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
A ftirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a fleeping giant: Tell him so f.
Pat. I fhall, and bring his anfwer presently.

[Exit Patroclus. Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfy'd, We come to speak with him :-Ulyffes, enter you.

[Exit Ulyffes.

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

Aja. Is he fo much? Do you not think he thinks himself

A better man than I?

Aga. No queftion.

Aja. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay-he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax; you are as ftrong, as valiant, As wife too, no lefs noble, much more gentle,

And altogether more tractable.

Aja. Why fhould a man be proud?

How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is.
Aga. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your
The fairer. He that's proud eats up himself:
Pride is his own glafs, his own trumpet, his
Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself
But in the deed, devours the deed i'th' praise l.

virtues

There is a moft commendable degree or dignity and spirit in this fpeech of Agamemnon's.

This is an excellent ftroke at self-sufficiency, which must ever impair merit,

Aja. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engend'ring

of toads.

Nef. And yet he loves himself; is it not strange?

Re-enter Ulyffes.

Uly. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excuse ?

Uly. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,
In will peculiar and in felf admission.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair requeft, "Untent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?

"Uly. Things fmall as nothing, for requeft's fake only, "He makes important: Poffeft he is with greatnefs; "And speaks not to himself, but with a pride "That quarrels at felf breath: imagin'd worth "Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourfe, "That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,

Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,

"And batters 'gainft itfelf: What fhould I say?
"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 request, a little from himself.

Uly. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo!

We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes,

When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord,-
That baftes his arrogance with his own seam;

And never fuffers matter of the world

Enter his thoughts, fave fuch as doth 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