Ther. Ay; the heavens hear me !

Enter ACHILLES.

Achil, Who's there?

Patr. Therfites, my lord,

Achil. Where, where?-Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why haft thou not serv'd thyfelf in to my table fo many meals? Come; what's Agamemnon?

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Patr. Thy lord, Therfites; Then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyfelf?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me Patroclus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'st.

Achil. O, tell, tell.

Ther. I'll decline the whole queftion. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool.

Patr. You rascal!

Ther. Peace fool I have not done.

Achil. He is a privileg'd man.-Proceed, Therfites. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool Therfites is a fool; and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is fool.

a

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Therfites is a fool, to ferve fuch a fool; and Patroclus is a fool pofitive.

Patr. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand of the prover.

-It

fuffices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here?

Enter

Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, and AJAX.

Achil. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with no body:-Come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is fuch patchery, fuch juggling, and fuch 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 ferpigo on the fubject! and war, and lechery, confound all! [Exit.

Aga. Where is Achilles?

Patr. Within his tent; but ill-difpos'd, my lord.
Aga. Let it be known to him, that we are here.
He fhent our meffengers; and we lay by
Our appertainments, vifiting of him :

Let him be told fo; left perchance, he think
We dare not move the queftion of our place,
Or know not what we are.

[Exit.

Patr. I fhall fo fay to him.
Uly. We faw him at the opening 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 my head, 'tis pride: But why, why? let him fhew us a cause. A word, my lord.

[To AGAMEMNON. Neft. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Uly. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Neft. Who? Therfites?

Ulyff. He.

Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have loft his argument.

Ulyff. No; you fee, he is his argument, that has

his argument; Achilles.

Neft. All the better; their fraction is more our with, than their faction: But it was a strong compofure, a fool could difunite.

Uly. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untię. Here comes Patroclus.

Re-enter PATROCLUS.

Neft. No Achilles with him.

Uly. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtefy;

His legs are for neceffity, not for flexure.

Patr. Achilles bids me fay he is much forry, If any thing more than your fport and pleasure Did move your greatnefs, and this noble state, To call on him; he hopes, it is no other, But, for your health and your digestion sake, An after-dinner's breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;

We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evafion, wing'd thus fwift with fcorn,
Cannot out-fly our apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath; and much the reafon
Why we afcribe it to him: yet all his virtues,—
Not virtuously on his own part beheld,—
Do, in our eyes, begin to lofe their glofs;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
We come to speak to him: And you shall not fin,
If you do fay-we think him over-proud,
And under-honeft; in felf affumption greater,
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than
himself,

Here tend the favage ftrangeness he puts on;

Disguise

Difguife the holy strength of their command,
And under-write in an obferving kind
His humourous predominance; yea, watch
His pettifh lunes, his ebbs, his 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 fo much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report

Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
A ftirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a fleeping giant :-Tell him fo.

Patr. I fhall; and bring his anfwer prefently.

[Exit. Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfied, We come to fpeak with him.-Ulyffes, enter you, Exit ULYSSES.

Ajax. What is he more than another?

Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax. Is he fo much? Do you not think, he A better man than I? [thinks himself

Aga. No queftion.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay

he is?

Aga. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant,

As wife, and 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 pride is. Aga. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your

virtues

The fairer. He that's proud, eats up himself: Pride is his own glafs, his own trumpet, his

Own

Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself
But in the deed, devours the deed i' the praife.
Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en-
gendering of toads.

Neft. [Afide.] And yet he loves himself; Is it not strange?

Re-enter ULYSSES,

Uly. Achilles will not to the field to morrow, 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,
Untent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?
Uly. Things fmall as nothing, for request's fake
only,

He makes important: Poffeft he is with greatness;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at felf-breath; imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself: What should I say?
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, At your request, a little from himself.

Uly. 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