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 yourself; 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 ^{8 note}
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.
^{9 note}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 Lon
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,

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