Cal.
Now, Princes, for the service I have done you,
Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense: appear it to you,(28) ^note


That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd my self,
From certain and possest conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes; sequestred from 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 into the world, strange, unacquainted.
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,
Out of those many registred in promise,
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

Aga.
What wouldst 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 o' th' 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 pain.

Aga.
Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. Good Diomede,
Furnish you fairly for this enterchange;
Withall, 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. [Exit. Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent.

Ulys.
Achilles stands i'th' 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 on him?
If so, I have decision medicinable
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 shew it self, 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.

Achil.
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?

Nest.
Would you, my lord, ought with the General?

Achil.
No.

Nest.
Nothing, my lord.

Aga.
The better.

Achil.
Good day, good day.

Men.
How do you? how do you?

Achil.
What, does the cuckold scorn me?

Ajax.
How now, Patroclus?

Achil.
Good morrow, Ajax.

Ajax.
Ha?

Achil.
Good morrow.

Ajax.
Ay, and good next day too. [Ext.

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

Patr.
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 altars.

Achil.
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 butter-flies,
Shew not their mealy wings but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath honour, but is honour'd by those honours
That are without him; as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which when they fall, (as being slipp'ry standers)
The love that lean'd on them, as slipp'ry too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Dye 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 in me not worth that rich beholding,
As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his Reading.—Now, Ulysses?

Ulys.
Now, Thetis' son!

Achil.
What are you Reading?

Ulys.
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.

Achil.
This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends it self
To others eyes: nor doth the eye it self
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold it self
Not going from it self; but eyes oppos'd
Salute each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to it self,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see its self; this is not strange.

Ulys.
I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar; but the author's drift;
Who, in his circumstance, expresly proves
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Tho' 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 formed in th' applause
Where they're extended; which, like an arch, reverb'rates
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
Fronting the Sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this,
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax—
Heav'ns! 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 renown'd! Oh heav'ns, what some men do,

While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish Fortune's Hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes;
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords! why ev'n already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil.
This I do believe;
For they passed by me, as misers do by beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What! are my deeds forgot?

Ulys.
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.
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 forth-right,
Like to an entred 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 near, o'er-run
And trampled on: Then what they do in present,
Tho' less than yours in past, must o'er-top yours.
For time is like a fashionable Host,
That slightly shakes his parting Guest by th' hand;
But with his arms out-stretch'd, 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, 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,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things past;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,(29) ^note

More laud than they will give to Gold o'er-dusted:
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 for thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thy self 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.

Achil.
Of my privacy
I have strong reasons.

Ulys.
'Gainst your privacy
The Reasons are more potent and heroical.
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.

Achil.
Ha! known!

Ulys.
Is that a wonder?
The providence, that's in a watchful State,
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive Deep;
Keeps place with thought; and almost, like the Gods,
Does ev'n our thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles:
There is a mystery (with which 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 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 Polyxena.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When Fame shall in his island sound her trump;
And all the Greekest 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.

Patr.
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 act.—I stand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse your self; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his am'rous fold;
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.

Achil.
Shall Ajax fight with Hector!—

Patr.
Ay, and, perhaps, receive much honour by him.

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

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
T'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 the Weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,

Ev'n to my full of view.—A labour sav'd! 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.

Achil.

How can that be?

Ther.

Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess, that hath no arithmetick but her brain, to set down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say, there were wit in his head, if 'twou'd 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, language-less, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather Jerkin.

Achil.

Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

Ther.

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 his demands to me, you shall see the Pageant of Ajax.

Achil.

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, &c. Do this.

Patr.

Jove bless great Ajax!

Ther.

Hum—

Patr.

I come from the worthy Achilles.

Ther.

Ha!

Patr.

Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his Tent.

Ther.

Hum—

Patr.

And to procure safe Conduct from Agamemnon.

Ther.

Agamemnon!—

Patr.

Ay, my lord.

Ther.

Ha!

Patr.

What say you to't?

Ther.

God be wi'you, with all my heart.

Patr.

Your answer, Sir.

Ther.

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.

Patr.

Your answer, Sir.

Ther.

Fare ye well with all my heart.

Achil.

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

Ther.

No, but he's out o' tune thus; what musick 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.

Achil.

Come, thou shall bear a letter to him straight.

Ther.

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

Achil.

My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd, And I my self see not the bottom of it.

Ther.

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.

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