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, why turn'd on him;
If so, I have ^{8 note}derision 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 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.

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 aught with us?

Nest.
Would you, my Lord, aught 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. [Exeunt.

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 butterflies,
Shew not their mealy wings but to the summer,
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath any honour, but honour 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
Die 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, methink, find out

Something in me not worth that rich beholding,
As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his reading.—How now, Ulysses?

Ulys.
Now, great Thetis' son!

Achil.
What are you reading?

Ulys.
A strange fellow here
Writes me, that man, ^{9 note}

Achil.
This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
^{1 note}
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself.
That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself
Not going from itself; but eyes oppos'd
Salute each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see its self. This is not strange at all.

Ulys.
I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar, but the author's drift;
Who, ^{2 note}in his circumstance, expresly proves
That no man is the Lord of any thing,
Tho' in, and of, him there be much consisting,

'Till he communicate his parts to others;
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
'Till he behold them form'd in their applause
Where they're extended, who, like an arch, reverb'rate
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
^{3 note}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!
^{4 note}

They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil.
I do believe it;
For they pass'd by me, as misers do by beggars,
Neither gave to me good wotd, nor good look.
What! are my deeds forgot!

Ulys.
^{6 note}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: ^{7 note}




Perseverance keeps Honour bright:
To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
Like rusty nail 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 hedge aside from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindermost; ^{8 note}and there you lie,
Like to a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
For pavement ^{9 note}
to the abject rear, ^{1 note}

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. For Welcome ever smiles,
And Farewel goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
^{2 note}

^{4 note}

Achil.
Of this 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,
^{5 note}
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive Deep;
^{6 note}Keeps place with thought; and almost, like the Gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery, ^{7 note}
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 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.

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