Aga. No queftion.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay, be is? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, 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 the 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 praife.

SCENE VIII.

Re-enter Ulyffes.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engen-
dring of toads.

Neft. [Afide.] Yet he loves himself: is't not ftrange?
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excuse?

Ulys. 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-admiffion.

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

Uly. Things small as nothing, for request's fake only,
He makes important; poffeft he is 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 fhould I say?
He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry, no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear

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.

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so. We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes, When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud Lord, That bastes his arrogance with his own feam, 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 fat already pride,

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

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 this applaufe!

[Afide.

[Afide.

Ajax. If I go to him

-with my armed fift

I'll pafh him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll 4 pheese his

pride; let me go to him.

Ulyf. 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?
Ulyf. The raven chides blackness.

4 pheefe his pride ;] To pheefe is to comb or curry.

6

5 Not for the worth-] Not for the value of all for which we are fighting.

Ajax.

Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that fhould be the patient.

Ajax. And all men were o’ my mind

Ulyf. Wit would be out of fashion.

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

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

Ulyf. He would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,Neft. He's not yet through warm: force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. Ulyf. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Neft. Our noble General, do not đỡ fɔ.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulys. 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.

Ulyf. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorefon dog! that palters thus with us "Would he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now.

Uly. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praise.

Ulyf. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf affected.

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

Neft. Force him with praifes; &c.] The latter part of Ajax's fpeech is certainly got out of place, and ought to be affign'd to Neftor, as I have ventur'd to tranfpofe it. Ajax is feeding on his vanity, and boatting what he'll

7

do to Achilles; he'll path him o'er the face, he'll make him eat fwords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neflor and Ulys fes flily labour to keep him up in this vein; and to this end Nefter craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more flattery. THEOBALD.

Uhf.

Ulyf. Thank the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of sweet composure ;

Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd be thy Tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice fam❜d beyond, beyond all erudition;
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his Addition yields

To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, á pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Inftructed by the Antiquary times;

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain fo temper'd,
You fhould not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father?

7 Neft. Ay, my good fon.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulyf. There is no tarrying here; the Hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our great General

To call together all his State of war;

Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to-morrow,

We must with all our main of pow'r ftand faft
And here's a Lord. Come Knights from Eaft to Welt,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the beft.
Aga. Go we to council, let Achilles fleep;
Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep.
[Exeunt.

7 Neft. Ay, my good fon.] In the folio and in the modern editions Ajax defires to give the title

of father to Ulyffes; in the quarto, more naturally, to Neftor.

ACT

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy.

Enter Pandarus, and a Servant.

F

PANDARUS.

[Mufick within.

RIEND! you! Pray you, a word. Do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

Serv. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman. I muft needs praise him.

Serv. The Lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. Faith, Sir, fuperficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better. I am the Lord Pandarus.

Serv. I hope, I fhall know your honour better.
Pan. I do defire it.

Serv. You are in the state of grace.

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend. Honour, and Lordship, are my titles.

What mufick is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts.

Pan. You know the muficians?

Serv. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend?

Serv. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufick.

Pan.