Ther. Here is fuch patchery, fuch jugling, 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 Serpigo on the fubject, and war and lechery 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 fhent our messengers, and we lay by
Our appertainments. vifiting of him:

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

Pat. I fhall fo fay to him.

[Exit. Uly. We faw him at the opening of his tent, He is not fick.

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? Ulyff. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Neft. Who, Therfites?

Ulyff. He.

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

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

Neft. All the better; their fraction is more our wifh than their faction; but it was a ftrong counsel, that a fool could difunite.

Uly. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.

*He Sent our messengers.

-] This Nonfenfe fhould be read,

He Shent our Meffengers,- -i. e. rebuked, rated.

Warb.

SCENE

Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him?

[tefy;

Uly. The elephant hath joints, but none for courHis legs are for neceffity, not flexure.

Pat. Achilles bids me say, he is much forry,

If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatnefs, and this noble state,
To call on him; he hopes, it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-fake;
An after-dinner's breath.

Aga. Here you, Patroclus;

We are too well acquainted with these answers :
But his evafion, wing'd thus fwift with fcorn,
Cannot outfly 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;
And like fair fruit in an unwholesome 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,
In felf-affumption greater than in note

Of judgment: fay, men worthier than himself
Here tend the favage ftrangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And under-go in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettifh lunes, his ebbs and 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

Not portable, lie under this report,
Bring action hither, this can't go to war:
A flirring dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a fleeping giant; tell him fo.

Pat. I fhall, and bring his anfwer prefently. [Exit.
Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfied,

We come to speak with him. Ulyffes, enter.

Exit Ulyffes. Ajax. What is he more than another?

Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

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

Aga. No queftion.

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say,

he is?

Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no less 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; he, that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own glafs, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praife.

Ajax. I

SCENE VIII.

Re-enter Ulyffes.

Do hate a proud man, as I hate the engend-
ring of toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himfelf: is't not ftrange?
Ulyff. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excufe?

Ulyff. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his dispose,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,

In will-peculiar, and in felf-admiffion.

Aga. Why will be not, upon our fair request, Un-tent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?

Uly. Things fmall as nothing, for requeft's fake
only,

He makes important: he's poffeft with greatness,
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 down himself; what should 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 requeft a little from himself. ·

Ulyff. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
We'll confecrate the fleps that Ajax makes,

When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord,
That baftes his arrogance with his own seam,
And never fuffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself,) fhall he be worshipp'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 titled, as Achilles is,) by going to Achilles:
That were t'inlard his pride, already fat,

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

This lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,

And day in thunder, Achilles go to him!

Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applaufe!
Ajax. it I go to him with my armed fift
I'll path him o'er the face.

Aga.

Aga. O no, you fhall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheefe his pride: let me go to him.

Ulyff. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow

Neft. How he defcribes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Ulyff. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

[tient.

Aga. He'll be the physician, that should be the paAjax. And all men were o' my mind

Ulyff. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he should eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it?

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

Ulyff. He would have ten shares.

*

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fuppleNeft. He is not yet through warm: force him with praifes; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. Ulyff. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Uly.Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm. Here is a man- -but 'tis before his face I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Uly. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorefon dog! that palters thus with usWould he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now

Ulyff. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praise.

Ulyff. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.

[pofure;

Uly. Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of fweet com

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, he's not yet through warm.] The latter Part of this Speech should be given to Neftor.

Praise