Cre.

Who comes here?

Serv.

Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cre.

Hector's a gallant man.

Serv.

As may be in the world, lady.

Pan.

What's that? what's that?

Cre.

Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan.

^{9 note}Good morrow, cousin Cressid; what do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander—How do you, cousin? when were you at ^{1 note}Ilium?

Cre.

This morning, uncle.

Pan.

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

Cre.

Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan.

E'en so; Hector was stirring early.

Cre.

That were we talking of, and of his anger.

Pan.

Was he angry?

Cre.

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's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre.

What is he angry too?

Pan.

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

Cre.

Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan.

What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you know a man, if you see him?

Cre.

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

Pan.

Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre.

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

Pan.

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

Cre.

'Tis just to each of them. He is himself.

Pan.

Himself? alas, poor Troilus! I would, he were.

Cre.

So he is.

Pan.

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

Cre.

He is not Hector.

Pan.

Himself? No, he's not himself. 'Would, he were himself! Well, the Gods are above; 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.

Cre.

Excuse me.

Pan.

He is elder.

Cre.

Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan.

Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't; Hector shall not have his wit this year.

Cre.

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

Pan.

Nor his qualities.

Cre.

No matter.

Pan.

Nor his beauty.

Cre.

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

Pan.

You have no judgment, Niece. Helen herself swore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, for so 'tis, I must confess—Not brown neither—

Cre.

No, but brown.

Pan.

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

Cre.

To say the truth, true and not true.

Pan.

She prais'd his complexion above Paris.

Cre.

Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan.

So he has.

Cre.

Then Troilus should have too much, if she prais'd 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 lieve Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan.

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

Cre.

Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan.

Nay, I am sure, she does. She came to him th' other day into the compass-window; and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter?

Pan.

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

Cre.

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.

Cre.

Oh, he smiles valiantly.

Pan.

Does he not?

Cre.

O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Pan.

Why, go to then—but to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus.—

Cre.

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.

Cre.

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

Pan.

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

Cre.

Without the Rack.

Pan.

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

Cre.

Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

Pan.

But there was such laughing. Queen Hecuba laught, that her eyes run o'er.

Cre.

With milstones.

Pan.

And Cassandra laught.

Cre.

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

Pan.

And Hector laught.

Cre.

At what was all this laughing?

Pan.

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

Cre.

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

Pan.

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

Cre.

What was his answer?

Pan.

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

Cre.

This is her question.

Pan.

That's true, make no question of that. ^{2 note}One and fifty hairs, 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 blush'd, and Paris so chaf'd, and all the rest so laught, that it past.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

So I do.

Pan.

I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere a man born in April.

Cre.

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 towards Ilium? Good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

Who's that?

Pan.

That's Antenor, he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you, and he's a man good enough; he's one o'th' soundest judgment in Troy whosoever, and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I'll shew you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

Cre.

Will he give you the nod?

Pan.

You shall see.

Cre.

If he do, ^{3 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?

Cre.

O brave man!

Pan.

Is he 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.

Cre.

Be those with swords?

Pan.

Swords, any thing, he cares not. An the devil come to him, it's all one. By godslid, 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 home hurt 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.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

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.

Cre.

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!

Cre.

Peace, for shame, peace.

Pan.

Mark him, note him. O brave Troilus! look well upon him, niece; look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way; had I a sister were a Grace, or a daughter a Goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris?—Paris is dirt to him, and, I warrant, Helen to change would give ^{4 note}money to boot.

Cre.

Here come more.

Pan.

Asses, fools, dolts, chaff and bran, chaff and bran; porridge after meat. I could live and die i' th' 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.

Cre.

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

Pan.

Achilles? a dray-man, a porter, a very camel.

Cre.

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 so forth, the spice and salt, that seasons a man?

Cre.

Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with no date in the pye, for then the man's date is out.

Pan.

You are such another woman, one knows not at what ward you lie.

Cre.

Upon my back, to defend my belly; ^{5 note}upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask to defend my beauty, and you to defend all these. At all these wards I lie, and at a thousand watches.

Pan.

Say one of your watches.

Cre.

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.

Enter Boy.

Boy.

Sir, my Lord would instantly speak with you.

Pan.

Where?

Boy.

^{6 note}

Pan.

Good boy, tell him I come. I doubt, he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.

Cre.

Adieu, uncle.

Pan.

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

Cre.

To bring, uncle—

Pan.

Ay, a token from Troilus.

Cre.
By the same token, you are a bawd. [Exit Pandarus.
Words, vows, gifts, 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; ^{7 note}
joy's soul lies in the doing:
That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not this;
Men prize the thing ungain'd, more than it is.
^{8 note}That she was never yet, that ever knew
Love got, so sweet, as when Desire did sue:
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach;
Atchievement is Command; ungain'd, beseech.
^{9 note}Then though ^{1 note}my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit.

SCENE V. Changes to Agamemnon's Tent in the Grecian Camp. Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus, with 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 conflux 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 sev'n 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 gave't surmised shape. Why then, you Princes,
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our Works?
And think them shame, 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, and kin;
But in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction with a ^{2 note}broad 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.
^{3 note}

How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her ^{5 note}
patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk?
But let the russian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon, behold,
The strong-ribb'd Bark thro' liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse. Where's then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd Greatness? or to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's shew and valour's worth divide
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness,
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize
Than by the tyger; but when splitting winds
Make flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies get under shade; why then ^{6 note}the thing of courage,
As rowz'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize;
And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key,
^{7 note}Returns to chiding fortune.

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 th' applause and approbation
The which, most mighty for thy place and sway, [To Agamemnon.

And thou, most rev'rend for thy stretcht-out life, [To Nestor.
I give to both your ^{8 note}

^{9 note}Agam.
Speak, Prince of Ithaca, and be't of less expect
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips; than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws,
We shall hear musick, wit and oracle.

Ulyss.
Troy, yet upon her basis, had been down,
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
But for these instances.
^{1 note}The speciality of Rule hath been neglected;

And, look, how many Grecian Tents do stand
Hollow upon this Plain, so many hollow factions.
^{2 note}

Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts like the commandment of a King,
Sans check, to good and bad. ^{4 note}

Force should be Right; or rather, ^{8 note}

And last eat up itself. Great Agamemnon!
This Chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choaking:
And this neglection of degree is it,
^{9 note}That by a pace goes backward, ^{1 note}
with a purpose
It hath to climb. The General's disdain'd
By him one step below; he, by the next;
That next, by him beneath; so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his Superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and ^{2 note}bloodless emulation.
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a Tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

Nest.
Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The fever, whereof all our power 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 fore-hand of our Host,
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs. With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day
Breaks scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and aukward action,
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,
He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
* ^note

And, like a strutting Player, whose conceit
Lies in his ham-string, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,
Such to be-pitied and o'er-wrested Seeming
He acts thy Greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd:
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his prest-bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause:
Cries—excellent!—'tis Agamemnon just—
Now play me Nestor—hum, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being 'drest to some oration.
That's done—^{3 note}as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels; as like, as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet god 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 on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet—and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries “O!—enough, Patroclus—
“Or give me ribs of steel, I shall split all
“In pleasure of my spleen.” And, in this fashion,
^{4 note}

Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two ^{5 note}
to make paradoxes.

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 ^{6 note}
bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place,
As broad Achilles; and 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,
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
^{7 note}
How rank soever rounded in with danger.

Ulyss.
They tax our policy, and call it cowardise,
Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Forestall our prescience, and esteem no Act

But that of hand: The still and mental parts,
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness call them on, ^{8 note}


and know by measure
Of their observant toil the enemies' weight;
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity;
They call this bed-work, Mapp'ry, closet war:
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those, that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.

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

Aga.
What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

Men.
From Troy. SCENE VI. Enter Æneas.

Aga.
What would you 'fore our tent?

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

Aga.
Even this.

Æne.
May one, that is a Herald and a Prince,
Do a fair message to his ^{9 note}
kingly ears?

Aga.
With surety stronger than ^{1 note}
Achilles' arm,
'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
Know them from eyes of other mortals?

Aga.
How?

Æne.
I ask, that I might waken Reverence,

And ^{2 note}
bid the cheek 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?

Aga.
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. But peace, Æneas;
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips;
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If he, that's prais'd, himself bring the praise forth:
But what th' repining enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that praise sole pure transcends.

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

Æne.
Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Aga.
What's your affair, I pray you?

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

Aga.
He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.

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

Aga.
Speak frankly as the wind,
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 thro' all these lazy tents;

And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. [The trumpets sound.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A Prince call'd Hector, Priam is his father,
Who in this dull and ^{3 note}long continu'd truce
Is ^{4 note}rusty grown; he bade me take a trumpet
And to this purpose speak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress ^{5 note}more than in confession,
With truant vows ^{6 note}to her own lips he loves,
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,
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouze 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. Even so much.

Aga.
This shall be told our lovers, Lord Æneas.
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We've left them all at home: but we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a meer 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'm he.

Nest.
Tell him of Nestor; one, that was a man
When Hector's Grandsire suckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian Host
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
^{7 note}And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn;
And, meeting him, will tell him, that my Lady
Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste
As may be in the world: his youth in flood,
I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of blood.

Æne.
Now heav'ns forbid such scarcity of youth!

Ulyss.
Amen.

Aga.
Fair Lord Æneas, let me touch your hand:
To our Pavilion shall I lead you first:
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. SCENE VII. Manent 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.

Nest.
What is't?

Ulyss.
This 'tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots; the seeded pride,
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropt,

Or, shedding breed a ^{8 note}nursery of like evil,
To over-bulk us all.

Nest.
Well, and how?

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

Nest.
^{9 note}
The purpose is perspicuous ev'n as Substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up.
^{1 note}

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

Nest.
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 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 odly pois'd
In this wild action. For the success,

Although particular, shall give a ^{2 note}scantling
Of good or bad unto the general,
And in such indexes, although ^{3 note}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 distill'd
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves!
^{4 note}Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyss.
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 sell; 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
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

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 ^{5 note}share 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 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 selves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
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 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 relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him straight;
Two curs shall tame each other; pride alone
^{6 note}

Must tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt. 7 ^noteACT II.

SCENE I. The Grecian Camp. Enter Ajax and Thersites.

Ajax.

Thersites,—

Ther.

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

Ajax.

Thersites.—

Ther.

And those boiles did run—say so—did not the General run? were not that a botchy core?

Ajax.

Dog!—

Ther.

Then there would come some matter from him; I see none now.

Ajax.

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

^{8 note}Ther.

The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted Lord!

Ajax.

^{9 note}

Ther.

I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horse will sooner 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.

Doest 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 didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsom'st scab ^{1 note}in Greece.

Ajax.

I say, the proclamation—

Ther.

Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's Beauty: ay, ^{2 note}that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax.

Mistress Thersites!—

Ther.

Thou shouldst strike him.

Ajax.

Cobloaf!

Ther.

He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a bisket.

Ajax.

You whoreson cur!—

Ther.

Do, do.

Ajax.

Thou stool for a witch!—6Q0241

Ther.

Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted Lord; thou hast no more brain than I have in my elbows; an Assinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou 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!

Ther.

Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.

SCENE II. Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil.
Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this?
How now, Thersites? 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 (Achilles) 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?