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Ther. Here is such patchery, such jugling, and such 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 subject, and war and lecbery confound all!
[Exit. Aga. Where is Achilles ? Pat. Within his tent, but ill-dispos'd, my lord.
(Exit. Ulyd. We faw him at the opening of his tent, He is not fick.
Ajax. Yes, lion-fick, sick 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? Ulyf. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Neft. Who, Therfites ?
Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.
Ulyj. No, you fee, he is his argument, that has his argument, Achilles.
Neft. All the better ; their fraction is more our will ihan their faction ; but it was a strong counsel, that a fool could disunite.
Ulyl. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.
* He Sent our messengers. --] This Nonsense should be read, He Shent our Messengers-i. . rebuked, rated. Warb.
Here comes Patroclus.
[tesy; Ulyl. The elephant hath joints, but none for courHis legs are for necessity, not flexure.
Pat. Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
Aga. Here you, Patroclus;
shall not fin,
Not portable, lie under this report,
Pat. I shall, and bring his answer presently. [Exit,
Aga. In second voice we'll not be satisfied, We come to speak with him. Ulyses, enter.
Exit Ulysses. Ajax. What is he more than another ? Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax. Is he so much ? do you not think, he thinks himself a better man than I am ?
Aga. No question.
Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say, he is ?
Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more-tractable.
Ajax. Why should 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 glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Nefi. Yet he loves himself : is't not strange ?
Uly. He doth rely on none;
In will-peculiar, and in self-admission.
Aga. Why will be not, upon our fair request, Un-tent his person, and share the air with us ?. Uly. Things small as nothing, for request's fake
Aga. Let Ajax go to him.
Uly0, Agamemnon, let it not be so.
Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him. Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause!
Ajax. it I go to bim with my armed fist I'll paih him o'er the face.
Aga. O no, you shall not go.
Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride: let me go to him.
Uly]. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. He should not bear it so, he should eat swords first: sball pride carry it?
Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him suppleNeft. He is not yet through warm : force him with praises ; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
Uly. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Ulyd. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Neft. Wherefore should you so ?
Ulyl. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Ajax. A whoreson dog! that palters thus with us-,
Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now
[posure; Ulys. Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of sweet com* Ajax. I will knead him, r'll make him supple, he's not yet through warm.] The latter Part of this Speech should be given to Neftor.