Ajax. If I go to him I'll pash him o'er the face. with my armed fift Aga. O no, you fhall 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. Neft. How he defcribes himself! Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that should be the patient. Uly. Wit would be out of fashion. Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he fhould eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it? Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half. Uly. He would have ten fhares. 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. Ulf. My Lord, you feed too much on this difiike, 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. Ul. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. (13) Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fuffle, he is not yet through warm. Neft. Force him with praifes; &c.] The latter part of Ajax's Speech is certainly got out of Place, and ought to be affign'd to Neftor, as I have ventur'd to tranfpole 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 Ulyffes lily labour to keep him up in this Vein; and to this End Nor 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 Uly. If he were proud. Dio. Or covetous of praise. Uiy. Ay, or furly borne. Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected. Uly. Thank, the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of fweet compofure ; Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck: To finewy Ajax; I'll not praife thy wisdom, He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife: As green as Ajax, and your brain fo temper'd, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax. Ajax. Shall I call you father? Úly. Ay, my good fon. Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. Uly. 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, friends, We must with all our main of pow'r ftand faft: And here's a Lord, come Knights from Eaft to West, And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the best. Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles fleep; Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt. ACT ACT III. SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy. Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within. F 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? 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, 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 ftate 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 musick in parts. Pan. Know you the musicians? 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. Command, I mean, friend. Serv. Who fhall 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? Pan Serv. That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the requeft of Paris my Lord, who's there in perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invifible foul. Pan. Who, my coufin Creffida? Serv. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out that by her attributes ? Pan. It fhould feem, fellow, that thou haft not seen the Lady Creffida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental affault upon him, for my bufinefs feethes. Serv. Sodden bufinefs! there's a stew'd phrafe, indeed. Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair company! fair Defires in all fair measure fairly guide them; efpecially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow! Helen. Dear Lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You fpeak your fair pleasure, fweet Queen: fair Prince, here is good broken mufick. Par. You have broken it, coufin, and, by my life, you fhall make it whole again; you fhall 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 faid, my Lord; well, you fay fo in fits. Pan. I have bufinefs to my Lord, dear Queen; my Lord, will you vouchfafe me a word? Helen. Nay, this fhall not hedge us out; we'll hear you fing, certainly. Pan. Well, fweet Queen, you are plenfant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord; -my dear Lord, and most <fteemed Friend, your brother Troilus Helen. My Lord Pandarus, honey-fweet Lord,- Commends himself most affectionately to you. Helen. You fhall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our melancholy upon your head! VOL. VII. e Pan Pan. Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, I'faith Helen. And to make a fweet Lady fad, is a four of fence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that fhall it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for fuch words, no, no— Pan. And, my Lord, he defires you, that if the King call for him at fupper, you will make his excufe. Helen. My Lord Pandarus,– Pan. What fays my fweet Queen, my very very fweet Queen? Par. What exploit's in hand, where fups he to-night? Helen. Nay, but my Lord, Pan. What fays my fweet Queen? my coufin will fall out with you. Helen. You must not know where he fups. Par. I'll lay my life, with my difpofer Creffida. Pan. No, no, no fuch matter, you are wide; come, your difpofer is fick. Par. Well, I'll make excufe. Pan. Ay, good my Lord; why fhould you fay, Creffida? no, your poor difpofer's fick. Par. I fpy Pan. You spy, what do you spy? come, give me an inftrument now, fweet Queen. Helen. Why, this is kindly done. Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, fweet Queen. Helen. She thall 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 fing you a fong now. Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now; by my troth, sweet Lord, thou haft a fine fore head. Pan. Ay, you may, you may Helen. Let thy fong be love: this love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! Pan. Love!ay, that it fhall, i'faith. Par. |