Ajax. If I go to him with my armed fift I'll pash him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you thall not go.

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

Ulys. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry insolent fellow
Neft. How he describes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable ?
Ulys. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.
Aga. He'll be the physician, that should be the patient.
Ajax. And all men were o’my mind
Ulys. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He should not bear it so, he should eat swords first: Thall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Ulys. He would have ten shares.
Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him supple,
Neft. He's not yet through warm : (13) force him
with praises ; pour in, pour in ; his ambition is dry.

Ulys. My Lord, you feed too much on this dinike,
Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.
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 should you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulys. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

(13) Ajax. I will kneod bim, I'll make him fuifli, he is not yet through warm.

Neft. Force him with praijis; &c.] The latter part of Ajax's Speech is certainly got out of place, and ought to be assign'd to Neftor, as I have ventur'd to transpose it. Ajax is feeding on his Vanity, and boasting what he'll do to Achilles; he'll pash him o'er the Face, he'll make him eat Swords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Ulisės tlily labour to keep him up in this Vein; and to this End Nidor craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more Flattery. 4

Ajax.

Ajax, A whorefon dog! that palters thus with us
Would he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now
Ulys. If he were proud.
Dio. Or covetous of praise.
Ulys. Ay, or surly borne.
Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.
Ulys. Thank, the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of sweet

composure;
Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck :
Fam'd be thy Tu tor, 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 vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his Addition yields
To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Instructed by the Antiquary times ;
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise :
But pardon, father Nesfor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper’d,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax, Shall I call you father ?
Ulys. Ay, my good son.
Dio. Be ruld by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulys. 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: tomorrow, friends,
We must with all our main of pow'r stand fast :
And here's a Lord, come Knights from East to West,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep; Light boats fail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

(Exeunt.

ACT

ACT III.
SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Pa-

lace, in Troy.
Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within,

PAND ARU S..
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 must needs praise him.

Serv. The Lord be praised !
Pan. You know me, do

you

not?
Serv. Faith, Sir, superficially.
Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.
Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better.
Pan. I do defire it.
Serv. You are in the state of grace.
Pan. Grace ? not so, friend : honour, and Lordship,

titles :
What musick is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts.
Pan, Know you the musicians ?
Serv. Wholly, Sir.
Pan. Who play they to?
Serv. To the hearers, Sir.
Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?
Serv. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love musick.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.
Serv. Who shall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand, not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose requeft do these men play?

Pama

are my

re

Serv. That's to’t, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the quest of Paris my Lord, who's there in person ; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible foul.

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?

Serv. No, Sir, Helen ; could you not find out that by her attributes ?

Pan. It should feem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus : I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes. Serv. Sodden buliness! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair company! fair Desires in all fair measure fairly guide them; especially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear Lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen : fair Prince, here is good broken musick.

Par. You have broken it, cousin, and, by my life, you fall make it whole again ; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.
Helen. O, Sir
Pan. Rude, in footh ; in good footh, very rude.
Par. Well said, my Lord ; well, you say so in fits.

Pan. I have business to my Lord, dear Queen; my Lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out; we'll hear you fing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord ;- my dear Lord, and most esteemed Friend, your brother Troilus.

Helen. My Lord Pondarus, honey-sweet Lord,

Pan. Go to, sweet Queen, go to Commends himself moit affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our melancholy upon your head !

Vol. VII.

Pen

Pan. Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, I'faith

Helen. And to make a sweet Lady sad, is a four offence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words, no, no

Pan. And, my Lord, he desires you, that if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus,

Pan. What says my sweet Queen, my very very fweet Queen ?

Par. What exploit's in hand, where sups he to-night? Helen. Nay, but my Lord,

Pan. What says my sweet Queen? my cousin will fall out with you.

Helen. You must not know where he sups.
Par. I'll lay my life, with my dispofer Crellida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ; come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my Lord; why should you say, Cref fida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy

Pan. You spy, what do you spy? come, give me an inftrument now, sweet Queen,

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet Queen.

Helen. She shall have it, my Lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

Pan. He? no, she'll none of him, they two are twain.

Helen. Falling in after falling out, may make them three.

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prythee now ; by my troth, sweet Lord, thou haft a fine fore head.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! Pan. Love! .ay, that it shall, i'faith.

Par.