Cal.
Now, princes, for the service I have done you,
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompence. Appear it to your mind,
That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possessions,
Incurr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself,
From certain and possest conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes; sequest'ring from me all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Made tame and most familiar to my nature;
And here, to do you service, am become
As new unto the world, strange, unacquainted:
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,
Out of those many register'd in promise,
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

Aga.
What would'st thou of us, Trojan? make demand.

Cal.
You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor,
Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore)
Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange,
Whom Troy hath still deny'd: But this Antenor,
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs,
That their negociations all must slack,
Wanting his manage; and they will almost

Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
In change of him: let him be sent, great princes,
And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
In most accepted pay.

Aga.
Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have
What he requests of us.—Good Diomed,
Furnish you fairly for this interchange:
Withal, bring word—if Hector will to-morrow
Be answer'd in his challenge; Ajax is ready.

Dio.
This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burthen
Which I am proud to bear. [Exeunt Dio. and Cal. Enter, before their Tent, Achilles, and Patroclus.

Uly.
Achilles stands i'the entrance of his tent:—
Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot;—and, princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:—
I will come last: 'Tis like, he'll question me,
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him:
If so, I have decision med'cinable,
To use between your strangeness and his pride,
Which his own will shall have desire to drink;
It may do good: Pride hath no other glass
To show itself, but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.

Aga.
We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along;—
So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. [They pass forward.

Ach.
What, comes the general to speak with me?
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

Aga.
What says Achilles? would he ought with us?

Nes.
Would you, my lord, ought with the general?

Ach.
No.

Nes.
Nothing, my lord.

Aga.
The better. [Exeunt Aga. and Nes.

Ach.
Good day, good day.

Men.
How do you? how do you? [Exit Men.

Ach.
What, does the cuckold scorn me?

Aja.
How now, Patroclus?

Ach.
Good morrow, Ajax.

Aja.
Ha?

Ach.
Good-morrow.

Aja.
Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax.

Ach.
What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles?

Pat.
They pass by strangely: they were us'd to bend,
To send their smiles before them to Achilles;
To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep
To holy altar.

Ach.
What, am I poor of late?
'Tis certain, Greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies,
Shew not their mealy wings, but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath any honour; but's honour'd for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Do one pluck down another, and together
* ^noteDie in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess,
Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses:
I'll interrupt his reading.—
How now, Ulysses?

Uly.
Now, great Thetis' son?

Ach.
What are you reading?

Uly.
A strange fellow here
Writes me, That man—how dearly ever parted:

How much in having, or without, or in,—
Cannot 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.

Ach.
This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is born here in the face,
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself,
* ^note(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself,
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself,
'Till it hath travel'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all.

Uly.
I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar; but at the author's drift:
Who, in his circumstance, expresly proves—
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Though in and of him there is much consisting)
'Till he communicate his parts to others:
Nor doth he of himself know them for ought,
'Till he behold them form'd in the applause
Where they're extended; which, like an arch, reverberates
The voice again; or like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax.
&blquo;Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse;
&blquo;That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are,
&blquo;Most abject in regard, and dear in use!
&blquo;What things again most dear in the esteem,
&blquo;And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow
&blquo;An act that very chance doth throw upon him,

&blquo;Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
&blquo;While some men leave to do!
&blquo;How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
&blquo;While others play the ideots in her eyes!
&blquo;How one man eats into another's pride,
&blquo;While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
&blquo;To see these Grecian lords!—why, even already
&blquo;They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
&blquo;As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
&blquo;And great Troy shrinking.

&blquo;Ach.
&blquo;I do believe it: for they pass'd by me,
&blquo;As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me
&blquo;Good work, nor look:&brquo; What, are my deeds forgot?

Uly.
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: Perseverance keeps honour bright:
To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
Like rusty mail in monumental mockery.
Then, dear my lord, take you the instant way:
For honour travels in a streight 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,
Or turn aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindermost; and there you lye,
Like to a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
For pavement to the abject rear, o'er-run
And trampl'd on. Then what they do in present,
Though less than yours in past, must o'er-top-yours:
For time is like a fashionable host;
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps-in the comer: &blquo;Welcome ever smiles,
&blquo;And farewel goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
&blquo;Remuneration for the thing it was;
&blquo;For beauty, wit, high birth, desert in service,
&blquo;Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

&blquo;To envious and calumniating time.
&blquo;One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,—
&blquo;That all, with one consent, praise new born gawds,
&blquo;Though they are made and molded of things past;
&blquo;And give to dust, that is a little gilt,
&blquo;More laud than they will give to gold o'er-dusted.
&blquo;The present eye praises the present object:
&blquo;Then marvel not, thou great and compleat man,
&blquo;That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
&blquo;Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,
&blquo;Than what not stirs.&brquo; The cry went once on thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction* ^note.

Ach.
Of this my privacy
I have strong reasons.

Uly.
But 'gainst your privacy
The reasons are more potent and heroical:
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.

Ach.
Ha! known?

Uly.
Is that a wonder?
&blquo;The providence that's in a watchful state,
&blquo;Knows almost every grain of Pluto's gold;
&blquo;Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps;
&blquo;Keeps pace with thought; and almost, like the gods,
&blquo;Does even those thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
&blquo;There is a mystery (with whom relation
&blquo;Durst never meddle) in the soul of state;
&blquo;Which hath an operation more divine,
&blquo;Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to:
All the commerce 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 Polixena:
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.
Farewel, my lord: I, as your lover, speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit Ulysses.

Pat.
To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you:
A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loath'd, than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouze 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† ^note.

Ach.
Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Pat.
Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by him.

Ach.
I see, my reputation is at stake,
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.

Pat.
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.

Ach.
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 unarm'd: 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 labour sav'd!

Enter Thersites.

The.

A wonder!

Ach.

What?

The.

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

Ach.

How so?

The.

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

Ach.

How can that be?

The.

Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a-stride, and a-stand: ruminates, like an hostess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reck'ning: bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say—there were wit in this head, an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him, as fire in a flint, which will not shew without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, Good morrow, Ajax; and he replies, Thanks, Agamemnon: what think you of this man, that takes me for the general? He's grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin* ^note.

Ach.

Thou must be my embassador to him, Thersites.

The.

Who, I? why, he'll answer no body; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms: I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

Ach.

To him, Patroclus; tell him,—I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent; and to procure safe-conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon: Do this.

Pat.

Jove bless great Ajax!

The.

Hum!

Pat.

I come from the worthy Achilles:

The.

Ha!

Pat.

Who most humbly desires you, to invite Hector to his tent;

The.

Hum!

Pat.

And to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon.

The.

Agamemnon?

Pat.

Ay, my lord.

The.

Ha!

Pat.

What say you to't?

The.

Heav'n be wi'you, with all my heart.

Pat.

Your answer, sir.

The.

If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.

Pat.

Your answer, sir.

The.

Fare you well, with all my heart.

Ach.

Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

The.

No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not: but, I am sure, none; unless the fidler, Apollo, get his sinews to make catlings on.

Ach.

Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

The.

Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature.

Ach.
My mind is troubl'd, like a fountain stirr'd;
And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt Ach. and Pat.

The.

'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.

Previous section