Tro.
Call here my varlet^{5 note}

Pan.
Will this geer ne'er be mended^{2 note}

?

Tro.
The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength^{3 note},
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;

But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder^{4 note} than ignorance;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-less^{5 note} as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan.

Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Tro.

Have I not tarried?

Pan.

Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

Tro.

Have I not tarried?

Pan.

Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

Tro.

Still have I tarried.

Pan.

Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word—hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro.
Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench^{6 note}

Pan.

Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro.
I was about to tell thee,—When my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm^{8 note}

Pan.

An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women,—But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,—But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but—

Tro.
O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,—
When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand^{1 note}

In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach: To whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman^{2 note}

As true thou tell'st me, when I say—I love her;
But, saying, thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

Pan.
I speak no more than truth.

Tro.
Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan.

'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands^{3 note}

Tro.

Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus?

Pan.

I have had my labour for my travel; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Tro.

What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan.

Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro.

Say I, she is not fair?

Pan.

I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father^{4 note}; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter.

Tro.

Pandarus,—

Pan.

Not I.

Tro.

Sweet Pandarus,—

Pan.

Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

Tro.
Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus—O gods, how do you plague me!

I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium^{5 note}

Æne.
How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield^{7 note}

Tro.
Because not there; This woman's answer sorts^{8 note}
,
For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Æne.
That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

Tro.
By whom, Æneas?

Æne.
Troilus, by Menelaus.

Tro.
Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum.

Æne.
Hark! what good sport is out of town today!

Tro.
Better at home, if would I might, were may.—
But, to the sport abroad;—Are you bound thither?

Æne.
In all swift haste.

Tro.
Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Same. A Street. Enter Cressida and Alexander.

Cres.
Who were those went by?

Alex.
Queen Hecuba, and Helen.

Cres.
And whither go they?

Alex.
Up to the eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd^{9 note}

He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war^{1 note}

Did, as a prophet, weep^{3 note}


what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cres.
What was his cause of anger?

Alex.
The noise goes, this: There is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him, Ajax.

Cres.
Good; And what of him?

Alex.
They say he is a very man per se^{4 note}

Cres.

So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex.

This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions^{5 note}

Cres.

This morning, uncle.

Pan.

What were you talking of, when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?

Cres.

Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan.

E'en so: Hector was stirring early.

Cres.

That were we talking of, and of his anger.

Pan.

Was he angry?

Cres.

So he says here.

Pan.

True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres.

What, is he angry too?

Pan.

Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cres.
O, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan.
What, not between Troilus and Hector?
Do you know a man if you see him?

Cres.

Ay; if ever I saw him before, and knew him.

Pan.

Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres.

Then you say as I say: for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan.

No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.

Cres.

'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.

Pan.

Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he were,—

Cres.

So he is.

Pan.

—'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.

Cres.

He is not Hector.

Pan.

Himself? no, he's not himself.—'Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above^{1 note}; Time must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well,—I would, my heart were in her body!—No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cres.

Excuse me.

Pan.

He is elder.

Cres.

Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan.

The other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit^{2 note} this year.

Cres.

He shall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan.

Nor his qualities;—

Cres.

No matter.

Pan.

Nor his beauty.

Cres.

'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan.

You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)—Not brown neither.

Cres.

No, but brown.

Pan.

'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.

Cres.

To say the truth, true and not true.

Pan.

She prais'd his complexion above Paris.

Cres.

Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan.

So he has.

Cres.

Then, Troilus should have too much; if

she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan.

I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cres.

Then she's a merry Greek^{3 note}

Pan.

Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into a compassed window^{4 note}

Cres.

Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan.

Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cres.

Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter^{5 note}

Pan.

But, to prove to you that Helen loves him;—she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,—

Cres.

Juno have mercy!—How came it cloven?

Pan.

Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres.

O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan.

Does he not?

Cres.

O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Pan.

Why, go to then:—But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,—

Cres.

Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.

Pan.

Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.

Cres.

If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell.

Pan.

I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin;—Indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess.

Cres.

Without the rack.

Pan.

And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.

Cres.

Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

Pan.

But, there was such laughing;—Queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.

Cres.

With mill-stones^{6 note}

.

Pan.

And Cassandra laughed.

Cres.

But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes;—Did her eyes run o'er too?

Pan.

And Hector laughed.

Cres.

At what was all this laughing?

Pan.

Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

Cres.

An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.

Pan.

They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cres.

What was his answer?

Pan.

Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.

Cres.

This is her question.

Pan.

That's true; make no question of that. One and fifty hairs^{7 note}, quoth he, and one white: That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck it out, and give it him. But, there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed^{8 note}.

Cres.

So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.

Pan.

Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

Cres.

So I do.

Pan.

I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere a man born in April^{9 note}

Cres.

And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May.

Pan.

Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward Ilium? good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida.

Cres.

At your pleasure.

Pan.

Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see most bravely: I'll tell you them all by their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.

Cres.

Speak not so loud.

Pan.

That's Æneas; Is not that a brave man? he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you; But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.

Cres.

Who's that?

Pan.

That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit^{1 note}

Pan.

That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; There's a fellow!—Go thy way, Hector;—There's a brave man, niece.—O brave Hector!—Look, how he looks! there's a countenance: Is't not a brave man?

Cres.

O, a brave man!

Pan.

Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good— Look you what hacks are on his helmet? look you yonder, do you see? look you there! There's no jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as they say: there be hacks!

Cres.

Be those with swords?

Pan.

Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one: By god's lid, it does one's heart good:—Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece; Is't not a gallant man too, is't not?—Why, this is brave now.—Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good now.

Ha! 'would I could see Troilus now!—you shall see Troilus anon.

Cres.

Who's that?

Pan.

That's Helenus,—I marvel, where Troilus is:—That's Helenus;—I think he went not forth to-day:—That's Helenus.

Cres.

Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Pan.

Helenus? no;—yes, he'll fight indifferent well:—I marvel, where Troilus is!—Hark; do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?—Helenus is a priest.

Cres.

What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

Pan.

Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus: 'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece!—Hem!—Brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry!

Cres.

Peace, for shame, peace!

Pan.

Mark him; note him;—O brave Troilus! —look well upon him, niece; look you how his sword is bloodied^{3 note}

Forces pass over the Stage.

Cres.

Here come more.

Pan.

Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.

Cres.

There is among the Greeks, Achilles; a better man than Troilus.

Pan.

Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel.

Cres.

Well, well.

Pan.

Well, well?—Why, have you any discretion? have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?

Cres.

Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date in the pye^{6 note}

Pan.

You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you lie^{7 note}.

Cres.

Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles^{8 note}

defend mine honesty: my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these: and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand watches.

Pan.

Say one of your watches.

Cres.

Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it is past watching.

Pan.

You are such another!

Boy.

Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

Pan.

Where?

Boy.

At your own house; there he unarms him^{9 note}

Pan.

Good boy, tell him I come: [Exit Boy.] I doubt, he be hurt.—Fare ye well, good niece.

Cres.

Adieu, uncle.

Pan.

I'll be with you, niece, by and by.

Cres.

To bring, uncle,—

Pan.

Ay, a token from Troilus.

Cres.
By the same token—you are a bawd.— [Exit Pandarus.
Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
He offers in another's enterprize:
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see

Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be;
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing^{1 note}

SCENE III. The Grecian Camp. Before Agamemnon's Tent. Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Menelaus, and Others.

Agam.
Princes,
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,
Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd;
As knots, by the conflúx of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us,
That we come short of our suppose so far,
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gav't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works;
And think them shame* ^note, which are, indeed, nought else
But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found

In fortune's love: for then, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd^{6 note}
and kin:
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad^{7 note} and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled.

Nest.
With due observance of thy godlike seat^{8 note}

With those of nobler bulk^{2 note}

Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd greatness? either to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide,
In storms of fortune: For, in her ray and brightness,
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize^{5 note}

Ulyss.
Agamemnon,—
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit,
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up,—hear what Ulysses speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation
The which,—most mighty for thy place and sway,— [To Agamemnon.
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life,— [To Nestor.
I give to both your speeches, which were such,
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again,
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,
Should with a bond of air (strong as the axletree^{9 note}



On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears
To his experienc'd tongue^{1 note}

Thou great,—and wise^{2 note}
,—to hear Ulysses speak.

Agam.
Speak^{3 note}, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect^{4 note}

That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips; than we are confident,

When rank Thersites opes his mastive jaws,
We shall hear musick, wit, and oracle.

Ulyss.
Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master^{5 note}

,
But for these instances.
The specialty of rule^{6 note} hath been neglected:
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions^{7 note}

To whom the foragers shall all repair,
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves^{9 note}, the planets, and this center^{1 note}

What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny?
What raging of the sea? shaking of earth?
Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate^{4 note}


The unity and married calm of states^{5 note}

Quite from their fixture? O, when degree is shak'd^{6 note}
,
Which is the ladder of all high designs,
The enterprize^{7 note}
is sick! How could communities,
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities^{8 note},
Peaceful commérce from dividable shores^{9 note},
The primogenitive and due of birth,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
But by degree, stand in authentick place?
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets
In mere oppugnancy^{1 note}

: The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe^{2 note}

Strength should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son should strike his father dead:
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong,
(Between whose endless jar justice resides,)
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then every thing includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choking.
And this neglection^{3 note}

of degree it is,
That by a pace^{4 note} goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb^{5 note}

Nest.
Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power^{7 note}
is sick.

Agam.
The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?

Ulyss.
The great Achilles,—whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our host,—
Having his ear full of his airy fame^{8 note},
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
Breaks scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and aukward action
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation^{9 note}

He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending^{3 note}; with terms unsquar'd^{4 note},
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries—Excellent!—'tis Agamemnon just.—
Now play me Nestor;—hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being 'drest to some oration.
That's done;—as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels^{5 note}
; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent!
'Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit,
And with a palsy-fumbling^{6 note}

In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots^{7 note}

, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes^{8 note}
.

Nest.
And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will'd: and bears his head
In such a rein^{9 note}
, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle: and sets Thersites
(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint^{1 note},)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger^{2 note}

Ulyss.
They tax our policy, and call it cowardice;
Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Forestall prescíence, and esteem no act

But that of hand: the still and mental parts,—
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight^{3 note}

Nest.
Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounds.

Agam.
What trumpet? look, Menelaus^{4 note}. Enter Æneas.

Men.
From Troy.

Agam.
What would you 'fore our tent?

Æne.
Is this
Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray?

Agam.
Even this.

Æne.
May one, that is a herald, and a prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears^{5 note}
?

Agam.
With surety stronger than Achilles' arm^{6 note}

'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.

Æne.
Fair leave, and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks^{7 note}

Agam.
How?

Æne.
Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek^{8 note}
be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phœbus:
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

Agam.
This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

Æne.
Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd

As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord,
Nothing so full of heart^{9 note}

Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise disdains his worth,
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth^{1 note}



:
But what the repining enemy commends,
That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.

Agam.
Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Æneas?

Æne.
Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Agam.
What's your affair, I pray you^{2 note}

Æne.
Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Agam.
He hears nought privately, that comes from Troy.

Æne.
Nor I from Troy came not to whisper him:
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear;
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Agam.
Speak frankly as the wind^{3 note}


;
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour:
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.

Æne.
Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;—
And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. [Trumpet sounds.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,)
Who in this dull and long-continued truce^{4 note}

That loves his mistress more than in confession^{6 note},
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves^{7 note},)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers,—to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call,
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:
If any come, Hector shall honour him;
If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance^{8 note}
. Even so much.

Agam.
This shall be told our lovers, lord Æneas;
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We left them all at home: But we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

Nest.
Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now;
But, if there be not in our Grecian host^{9 note}
One noble man that hath one spark of fire,
To answer for his love, Tell him from me,—
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,

And in my vantbrace^{2 note}

Æne.
Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

Ulyss.
Amen.

Agam.
Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your hand;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
Achilles shall have word of this intent;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent:
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe. [Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor.

Ulyss.
Nestor,—

Nest.
What says Ulysses?

Ulyss.
I have a young conception in my brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape^{4 note}

Nest.
What is't?

Ulyss.
This 'tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride^{5 note}

That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery^{6 note} of like evil,
To overbulk us all.

Nest.
Well, and how^{7 note}

Ulyss.
This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest.
The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up^{8 note}

And, in the publication, make no strain^{9 note}

Ulyss.
And wake him to the answer, think you?

Nest.
Yes,
It is most meet: Whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring those honours^{1 note} off,
If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
In this wild action: for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling^{2 note}

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 distill'd
Out of our virtues; Who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain'd^{4 note}, limbs are his instruments^{5 note}

Ulyss.
Give pardon to my speech;—
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not^{6 note}
,
The lustre of the better shall exceed,
By showing the worse first^{7 note}

Nest.
I see them not with my old eyes; what are they?

Ulyss.
What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share^{8 note} with him:
But he already is too insolent;
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 foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion^{9 note} crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax^{1 note}

The sort^{2 note}

For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, 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^{3 note} still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,—
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.

Nest.
Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice^{4 note}
;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on^{5 note}

, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt. 6 ^note.

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