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But there's more in me, than thou understandst.
Why doft thou so oppress me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body
Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there,
That I may give the local wound a name;
And make distinct the very breach, where-out
Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heav'ns!
Hect. It would discredit the blest Gods, proud man,
To answer fuch a question: ftand again.
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly,
As to prenominate, in nice conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Helt. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me fo,

I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But, by the forge that fmithied Mars his helm, (24)
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o’er.
You wifeft Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His infolence draws folly from my lips;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, coufin;

And you, Achilles, let thefe threats alone,. 'Till accident or purpose bring you

to't.

(24) But by the Forge that tythied Mars bis helm,}; So, again, in Hamlet;

And my Imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's Stithy.

A Stithy, or Stith, fignifies an Anvil. So CHAUCER in his Knight's

Tale.

and the Smith

That forgith fharpe Swerdis on the Stith.

And the Word is fill current in our Northern Counties. But, I own, I fufpect this not to have been our Author's Word, either in Hamlet or here. For, in the first Place, an Anvil is far from being the dirtieft thing in a Smith's Shop: and then the Forge, or Furnace, cannot be said to anvil the Helmet. I have corrected;

But by the Forge that smithied Mars's helm.

A Smithy is the working Shop of a Smith; and to fmithy, is, to perform the Work and Office of a Smith..

You:

You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If you have ftomach. The general State, I fear,
Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.

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He. I pray you, let us fee you in the field:
We have had pelting wars fince you refus'd
The Grecians' caufe.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector?
To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death ;
To-night, all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece, go to my Tent, There in the full convive you; afterwards,

As Hector's leifure and your bounties shall
Concur together, feverally intreat him

To tafte your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt。
Manent Troilus and Ulyffes.

Troi. My Lord Ulyffes, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Ulyf. At Menelaus' Tent, most princely Troilus ;
There Diomede doth feaft with him to-night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view
On the fair Crefid.

Troi. Shall I, fweet Lord, be bound to thee fo much, After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,

To bring me thither ?

Ulys. You fhall command me, Sir:

As gently tell me, of what honour was

This Crefida in Troy; had the no lover there,
That wails her absence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boafting fhew their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my Lord ?
She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth :

But, ftill, fweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt..

ACT

A CT V.

SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.

I'

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

ACHILLE S.

"'LL heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my fcimitar l'll cool to-morrow. Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

Patr. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites.

Achil. How now, thou core of envy? (25)
Thou crufty botch of Nature, what's the news?
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seem'ft, and
idol of ideot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee.
Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Patr. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound.
Patr. Well faid, adverfity; and what need these tricks ?
Ther. Pr'ythee, be filent, boy, I profit not by thy talk;
thou art thought to be Achilles's male-varlet.

Patr. Male-varlet, you rogue? what's that?

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of (25) How now, thau core of Envy?

Thou crufty batch of Nature,] Thus all the printed Copies: but what is a crufty batch of Nature? We must certainly read, Botch; i. e. Scab, Sore, &c. So, before, in the Beginning of the fecond A&t.

And thofe Boils did run- -Say fo; run, were not that a botchy Core ?

Did not the General

impoft

impofthume, fciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurable bone-ach, and the rivell'd fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous discoveries.

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curfe thus ?

Ther. Do I curse thee?

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorefon indiftinguishable cur.

Ther. No why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial skein of fley'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou tafel of a prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pefter'd with fuch water-flies, diminutives of Nature.

Patr. Out, gall!

Ther. Finch-egg!

Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle:
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,

A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep

An oath that I have fworn. I will not break it;
Fall Greek, fail fame, honour, or go, or stay,
My major vow lies here; this I'll obey.
Come, come, Therfites, help to trim my tent,
This night in banquetting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

[Exe.

Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, thefe two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honeft fellow enough, and one that loves quails, (26) but he hath not so much brain as ear-wax; and

(26) And one that loves Quails,] This I take to be an obfcure Paffage, not very commonly understood, and therefore may deserve a Note of Explanation. Therfites, is every where fcurrilous, and fcandalous in his Obfervations upon the Grecks. He abuses Menelaus for a ftupid Cuckold; and with the fame Freedom, I apprehend, here he is charging Agamemnon with being a Wencher; in saying, he is a Lover of Quails. But what Confonance, may it not be asked, is there, betwixt Quails, and a Mistress? Rabelais, in the Prologue to his 4th Book, fpeaks of Cailles coiphees mignonnement chantans ;

and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his bro ther, the bull, (the primitive ftatue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ;) a thrifty fhooing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg; to what form, but that he is, fhould wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him? to an afs were nothing, he is both afs and oxi to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and afs; to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizzard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care : but to be Menelaus, I would confpire against Destiny. Afk me not what I would be, if I were not Therfites; for I care not, to be the loufe of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus

Hey-day, fpirits and fires !

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, and Diomedes, with lights.

Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong.

Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; there, where we see the light. Heat. I trouble you.

Ajax. No, not a whit.

Enter Achilles.

Uly. Here comes himself to guide you.

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. Aga. So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night, Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you.

Heat. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' General. Men. Good night, my Lord.

Heat. Good night, fweet Lord Menelaus.

Ther. Sweet draught-fweet, quoth afweet fink, fweet fewer.

Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry.

Aga. Good night.

which Motteux, I find, has tranflated, Coated Quails, and laced Mutton, waggishly finging. [Of laced Mutton I have already fpoken in a Note on the Two Gentlemen of Verona :] And Cotgrave, in his French Dictionary, feems to have had his Eye on this Paffage, when he explains Cailles coiffees, Women.

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