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

Ulyd. And wake him to the answer, think you ?
Neft. Yes, 'tis most meet; whom

may you

else oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a sportful combat,
Yet in this tryal much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans taste our dear'ít Repute
With their fin'it palate : and trust to me, Uljes,
Our imputation shall be odly pois'd
In this wild action. For the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general :
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant-mass
Of things to come, at large. It is suppos’d,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our Choice;
And Choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election ; and doth boil,
As 'twere, from forth us all, a man distillid
Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying,
What heart from hence receives the conqu’ring party
To steel a strong opinion to themselves !
Which entertain'd, limbs are his inftruments,
In no less working, than åre swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Uly Give pardon to my Speech;
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll fell; if not,
The lustre of the better, yet to shew,
Shall shew the better. Do not then consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:
For both our honour and our shame in this


P 3.

Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Nep. I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?

Ulyl. What Glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too infolent;
And we were better parch in Africk Sun,
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he 'scape Hector fair. If he were foild,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best 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 physick 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 safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices : if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion fill,
That we have better men. But, hit or mifs,
Our project's life this shape of Sense assumes,
Ajax, imployd, plueks down Achillesplames,

Neft. Ulylles, now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon ; go we to him ftreight;
Two curs shall tame each other ; pride alone
Must tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt.


А с т ІІ.
SCENE, the Grecian Camp
Enter Ajax and Thersites.


Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boiles-full,
all over, generally.

Talking to himself Ajax. Therfites,


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Ther. And those boiles did run- fay fodid not the General run ? were not that a botchy core ?

Ajax. Dog!

Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him : I see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, canst thou not hear? feel then.

[Strikes bim. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord !

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

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

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Doeft thou think, I have no sense, thou strik't 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 loathsom’lt scab in Greece.

Ajax. I say, 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 Proserpina's Beauty: ay, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Therfites ! Ther. Thou shouldīt strike him. (9) Speak then, you unsalted Leaven, Speak :) This is a Reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no. Authority or Countea nance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Dee gree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid'A Leaven. This, 'ris true, is corrupted and unintelligible ; but the Emendacion, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a Sense apt and consonant to what Ajax would say. “ Thou Lump of sower “ Dough, kneaded up out of a Flower unpurg'd and unlifted, 56 with all the Dross and Bran in it."


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mong those of

Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pound thee into shivers with his fit, as a failor breaks a bisket. Ajax. You whorfon cur!

[Beating bin. Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch !

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord ; thou balt no more brain than I have in my elbows : an Alfinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold a

any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thog use 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 scurvy lord !
Ajax. You cur!

[Beating bin. 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 see 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 so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for whosoever 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 evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb’d his brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord ( Acbille:) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of him. Achil. What? [Ajax offers to frike him, Achilles interpoles.


Ther. I say, this Ajax-
Achil. Nay, good Ajax.
Ther. Has not so much wit-
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

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

Achil. Peace, fool! Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not : he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall-
Achil. Will


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 serve thee not.
Ajax. Well, go to, go to.
Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

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

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites?

Ther. There's Ulysses and old Neftor, (whose 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 Ulysses, and old Neftor, whose Wit was mould y ere their Grandfires had Nails on their toes,] This is one of these Editors wise Riddles. This is no Folly of Therfires's venring. What! Was Nestor's Wic mouldy, before his Grandlire's Toes had any Nails: that is, was the Grandson an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing.cloaths? Preposterous Nonsense! and yet so easy a Change, as one poor Pronoun for another sets all right and clear.


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