up.

Whofe groffness little characters fum
And, in the publication, make no strain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, (tho', Apollo knows,
Tis dry enough,) will with great fpeed of judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Uly. And wake him to the answer, think you?
Neft. Yes, 'tis most meet; whom may you elfe oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a fportful combat,
Yet in this tryal much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans tafte our dear'ft Repute
With their fin't palate and truft to me, Uljes,
Our imputation fhall be odly pois'd

:

In this wild action. For the fuccefs,
Although particular, fhall give a fcantling
Of good or bad unto the general:

And in fuch indexes, although small pricks
To their fubfequent volumes, there is feen
The baby figure of the giant-mass
Of things to come, at large. It is fuppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our Choice
And Choice, being mutual act of all our fouls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere, from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues; who mifcarrying,

;

What heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part
To fteel a ftrong opinion to themselves!
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyff. Give pardon to my Speech;

Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, fhew our fouleft wares,
And think, perchance, they'll fell; if not,

The luftre of the better,

yet to fhew,

Shall fhew the better. Do not then consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:

For both our honour and our fhame in this

Are dogg'd with two ftrange followers.

Neft. I fee them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ul. What Glory our Achilles fhares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all fhould fhare with him:
But he already is too infolent;

And we were better parch in Africh Sun,
Than in the pride and falt fcorn of his eyes,
Should he 'fcape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our beft man. No, make a Lott'ry;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw

The Sort to fight with Hector: 'mong our felves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will phyfick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His creft, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come fafe off,
We'll drefs him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion ftill,

That we have better men. But, hit or mifs,
Our project's life this shape of Senfe affumes,
Ajax, imploy'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes,
Neft. Ulyffes, now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him ftreight;
Two curs fhall tame each other; pride alone
Muft tar the maftiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt】

SCENE, the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Therfites.

HERSITES, Ther. Agamemnon all over, generally. Ajax. Therfites,

AJAX.

Ther. And thofe boiles did run-fay fodid not the General run? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog!

Ther. Then there would come some matter from him: I fee none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, canft thou not hear? feel then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak then, you unwinnow'd'ft (9) leaven, fpeak; I will beat thee into handfomness.

Ther. I fhall fooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horfe will fooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book: thou canft ftrike, canft thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toads-ftool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Doeft thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st me thus ?

Ajax. The proclamation

Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.

Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didft itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathfom'ft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the proclamation.

Ther. Thou grumbleft and raileft every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's Beauty: ay, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Therfites!

Ther. Thou fhouldft ftrike him.

(9) Speak then, you unfalted Leaven, Speak ;] This is a Reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no Authority or Counte nance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Degree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid'ft Leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible; but the Emendarion, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a Sense apt and confonant to what Ajax would fay- "Thou Lump of fower "Dough, kneaded up out of a Flower unpurg'd and unsifted, with all the Drofs and Bran in it.”

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Ajax.

Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pound thee into fhivers with his fift, as a failor breaks a bisket.

Ajax. You whorfon cur!-
Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou ftool for a witch!

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou fodden-witted lord; thou haft no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Affinego may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant afs! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among thofe of any wit, like a Barbarian flave. If thou ufe to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! Ajax. You dog!

Ther. You fcurvy lord!

Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do. Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this? How now, Therfites? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You fee him there, do you?

Achil. Ay, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why, I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for whofoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters; his evafions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine fparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a fparrow. This lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I fay of him.

Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to firike him, Achilles interpofes

Ther.

Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will ftop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the fool will not: he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Pat. Good words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

་

Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

Ther. Ev'n fo -a great deal of your wit too lies in your finews, or elfe there be liars. Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as good crack a fufty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes and old Neftor, (whofe wit was mouldy ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes,) (10) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the wair.

Achil. What! what!

(10) There's Ulyffes, and old Nestor, whofe Wit was mouldy ere their Grandfires had Nails on their toes,] This is one of thefe Editors wife Riddles. This is no Folly of Therfites's venting. What! Was Neftor's Wit mouldy, before his Grandfire's Toes had any Nails that is, was the Grandfon an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing-cloaths? Prepofterous Nonfenfe! and yet so easy a Change, as one poor Pronoun for another fets all right and clear.

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Ther.