Of judgment: fay, men worthier than himself
Here tend the favage ftrangenefs he puts on,
Difguife the holy ftrength of their command,
And under-go in an observing kind

His humourous predominance; yea, watch
His courfe and times, his ebbs and flows; as if
The paffage and whole carriage of this action.
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price so much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lye under this report,

66

Bring action hither, this can't go to war:

A ftirring dwarf we do allowance give,

Before a fleeping gyant; tell him fo.

Patr. I fhall, and bring his answer presently. [Exit. Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be satisfied,

We come to speak with him. Ulyffes, enter.

Ajax. What is he more than another?
Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

[Exit Ulyffes.

Ajax. Is he fo much? do you not think, he thinks himfelf a better man than I am?

Aga. No queftion.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay, he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no lefs 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 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 Ulyffes.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring

of toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himfelf: is't not strange?
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to morrow.

Aga.

Aga. What's his excufe?
Uly. He doth rely on none;
But carries on the stream of his dispose,
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 fmall as nothing, for requeft's fake only, He makes important: he's poffeft with greatness, And fpeaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at felf-breath. Imagin'd worth Holds in his blood fuch swoln and hot discourse, That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himfelf; what fhould I fay? He is fo plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it Cry, no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent; 'Tis faid, he holds you well, and will be led your requeft a little from himself.

At

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.

We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord,
That baftes his arrogance with his own feam,
And never fuffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himfelf,) fhall he be worship'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 pride, already fat,

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!

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

Aga. O no, you shall 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.
Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow-

Neft. How he describes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be sociable?
Uly. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that should be the patient.
Ajax. And all men were o'my mind-

Uly. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it so, he fhould eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Ulf. He would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,
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 dislike.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.

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 should you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

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

(13) Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him supple, he is not yet through warm.

Neft. Force him with praises; &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 tranfpofe it. Ajax is feeding on his Vanity, and boasting what he'll do to Achilles ; he'll pah him o'er the Face, he'll make him eat Swords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Vlyffes flily labour to keep him up in this Vein; and to this End Neftor craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more Flattery.

Ajax. A whorfon dog! that palters thus with us*Would he were a Trojan !

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now-
Ulf. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praife.

Ulf. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or self-affected.

Uly. Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of sweet compofure;

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 vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his Addition yields

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

As

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
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?

Ulf. 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, friends,
We muft with all our main of pow'r ftand fast:
And here's a lord, come Knights from Eaft to Weft,
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

PANDARUS.

RIEND! you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young lord Paris?

goes

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he before me. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean? Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

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

Ser. The lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, Sir, fuperficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord Pant darus.

Ser. I hope, I fhall know your honour better.

Pan. I do defire it.

Ser. You are in the state of grace.

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend: honour, and lordship, are my titles:

What mufick is this?

R

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts. Pan. Know you the muficians?

Ser. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Ser. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend?

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

Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Ser. Who fhall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I am

too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whofe requeft do thefe men play?

Pan.