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thinks, is the curse dependant on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers, and devil Envy say Amen. What ho! my Lord Achilles !
Enter Patroclus. Patr. Who's there! Therfites ? Good Therfites, come in and rail.
Ther. If I could have remember'd a gilt counter, thou couldīt not have flipp'd out of my contemplation ; but it is no matter, thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction 'till thy death, then if she, that lays thee out, says thou art a fair coarse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't
, she never shrowdany
but Lazars; Amen. Where's Achilles ? Pair. What, art thou devout? waft thou in prayer: Ther. Ay, the heav'ns hear me!
Achil. Where, where ? art thou come? why, my cheese, my digestion why haft thou not ferved thyself up to my table, so many meals come, what's Agamemnon!
Ther. Thy commander, Achilles ; then tell me, Pas troclus, what's Achilles ?
Patr. Thy Lord, Therfites : then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyself?
Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus : then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou ?
Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'it.
Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus's knower, and Patroclus is a fool.
Patr. You rascal
Ther. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Therfites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, 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, Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive.
Patr. Why am I a fool ?
Ther. Make that demand to thy creator ; - it fuffices me, thou art.
Enter Agamemnon, Ulyfies, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax,
and Calchas. Look you,
who comes here? Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with no body: come in with me, Therftes.
[Exit. Ther. Here is such patchery, fuch juggling, 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 lechery confound all !
[Exit. Aga. Where is Achilles ? • Patr. Within his tent, but ill dispos'd, my Lord.
Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here.
[Exit. Ulyf. We saw him at the op’ning 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
(12) He sent our Meffingers;] Who sent, in the Name of Accuracy? What! did Achilles send the Messengers, who were fent by Agamemnon? I make no doubt, but the Poet wrote i
He fhent our Messengers; i. e. rebuked, ill-treated, rated out of his Presence.
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?
Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.
Ulys. No, you fee, he is his argument, that has his argument, Achilles.
Neft. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction; but it was a strong counsel, that a fool could disunite.
Ulys. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untye.
Enter Patroclus. Here comes Patroclus.
Neft. No Achilles with him?
Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much forry,
Aga. Hear you, Patroclus ;
Of judgment: say, men worthier than himself
, and bring his answer presently. [Exit., Aga. In second voice we'll not be satisfied, We come to speak with him. Ulyses, enter.
[Exit Ulyfies. 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 queftion.
Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, 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 glafs, his own trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Re-enter Ulysses. Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring of toads.
Neft. Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?
Aga. What's his excuse?
Ulys. He doth rely on none;
Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Ulys. Things small as nothing, for request's fake only,
Aga. Let Ajax go to him.
Ulys. o, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
Nef. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him. Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applause !