Ulyss.

Now, great Thetis' son!

Achil. What are you reading?

Ulyss.

A strange fellow here Writes me, that man-how dearly ever parted,1 How much in having, or without, or inCannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver.

Achil.

This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face,
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself,
Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed,
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation2 turns not to itself,

Till it hath travelled, and is married there
Where it may see itself; this is not strange at all.
Ulyss. I do not strain at the position;

3

It is familiar; but at the author's drift;
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves-
That no man is the lord of any thing,

(Though in and of him there be much consisting,)

Till he communicate his parts to others.

Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
Till he behold them formed in the applause

4

Where they are extended; which, like an arch, reverberates

The voice again; or like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back

1 However excellently endowed, with however dear or precious parts enriched.

2 Speculation has here the same meaning as in Macbeth:

"Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

Which thou dost glare with."

3 Detail of argument.

4 The old copies read "who, like an arch, reverberate ;" which may mean, they who applaud reverberate. The elliptic mode of expression is in the Poet's manner. Rowe made the alteration.

VOL. V.

39

His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
And apprehended here immediately

The unknown Ajax.1

Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse;

That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are,

Most abject in regard, and dear in use!

What things again most dear in the esteem,

And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow,
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,—
Ajax renowned. O Heavens, what some men do,

While some men leave to do!

How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrieking.

2

Achil. I do believe it; for they passed by me, As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me Good word, nor look. What, are my deeds forgot? Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,3

A great-sized monster of ingratitudes.

Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

As done. Perséverance, dear my lord,

Keeps honor bright. To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail

In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honor travels in a strait so narrow,

Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons,

That one by one pursue. If you give way,

1 i. e. Ajax, who has abilities which were never brought into view

or use.

2 The folio reads shrinking.

3 This image is literally from Spenser.

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an entered tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost;-

Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank,'
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'errun and trampled on. Then what

present,

they do in

Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
For time is like a fashionable host,

That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer. Welcome ever smiles,

And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;

For beauty, wit,

High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

To envious and calumniating time.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,-
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,

More laud than gilt o'erdusted.3

The present eye praises the present object.
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
And still it might; and yet it may again,
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent;

Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,

2

1 The quarto wholly omits the simile of the horse, and reads thus:"And leave you hindmost, then what they do at present."

2 New-fashioned toys.

3 Gilt, in this second line, is a substantive. See Coriolanus, Act i. Sc. 3. Dust a little gilt means ordinary performances, which have the gloss of novelty. Gilt o'erdusted means splendid actions of preceding ages, the remembrance of which is weakened by time.

Made emulous missions' 'mongst the gods themselves, And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil.

I have strong reasons.

Of this my privacy

But 'gainst your privacy

Ulyss.
The reasons are more potent and heroical.
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.2

Achil.

Ulyss. Is that a wonder?

Ha! known?

The providence that's in a watchful state,
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps;
Keeps place with thought,3 and almost, like the gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath or pen can give expressure to.
All the commérce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord;
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,-
Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit.
Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you.

1 i. e. the descent of deities to combat on either side. Shakspeare probably followed Chapman's Homer: in the fifth book of the Iliad, Diomed wounds Mars, who, on his return to heaven, is rated by Jupiter for having interfered in the battle. This disobedience is the faction alluded to.

2 Polyxena, in the act of marrying whom, he was afterwards killed by Paris.

3 There is in the providence of a state, as in the providence of the universe, a kind of ubiquity.

4 There is a secret administration of affairs, which no history was ever able to discover.

A woman impudent and mannish grown,
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemned for this;
They think my little stomach to the war,

And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak, wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.1

Achil.

Shall Ajax fight with Hector? Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honor by him. Achil. I see my reputation is at stake;

My fame is shrewdly gored.

Patr.

O, then beware;

Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves. Omission to do what is necessary,

Seals a commission to a blank of danger;

And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus;

I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him

To invite the Trojan lords, after the combat,

To see us here unarmed. I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal,

To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full view. A labor saved!

Enter THERSITES.

Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

Achil. How so?

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.

1 The folio has "ayrie air.”