TROILUS.
Call here my Varlet, I'll unarm again.
Why should I war without the Walls of Troy,
That find such cruel Battel here within?
Each Trojan that is Master of his Heart,
Let him to Field, Troilus alas hath none.

Pan.
Will this Geer ne'er be mended?

Troi.
The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant:
But I am weaker than a Woman's Tear,
Tamer than Sleep, fonder than Ignorance;
Less valiant than the Virgin in the Night,
And skilless as unpractis'd Infancy.

Pan.

Well, I have told you enough of this: For my part, I'll not meddle nor make any farther. He that will have a Cake out of the Wheat, must needs tarry the Grinding.

Troi.

Have I not tarried?

Pan.

Ay, the Grinding; but you must tarry the Boulting.

Troi.

Have I not tarried?

Pan.

Ay, the Boulting; but you must tarry the Leav'ning.

Troi.

Still have I tarried.

Pan.

Ay, to the Leav'ning: but here's yet in the word hereafter, the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the Heating of the Oven, and the Baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your Lips.

Troi.
Patience her self, what Goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at Sufferance, than I do:
At Priam's Royal Table I do sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my Thoughts,—
So, Traitor!—When she comes, when she is thence

Pan.
Well,
She look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look,
Or any Woman else.

Troi.
I was about to tell thee, when my Heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector, or my Father should perceive me,
I have (as when the Sun doth light a Storm)
Buried this sigh, in wrinkle of a smile:
But Sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming Gladness,
Is like that Mirth Fate turns to sudden Sadness.

Pan.

And her Hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's well—go to, there were no more Comparison between the Women. But for my part she is my Kinswoman, I would not (as they term it) praise it—but I would some Body had heard her talk yesterday, as I did: I will not dispraise your Sister Cassandra's Wit, but—

Troi.
O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus—
When I do tell thee, there my Hopes lye drown'd,
Reply not in how many Fathoms deep
They lye intrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's Love. Thou answer'st, she is Fair,
Pour'st in the open Ulcer of my Heart,
Her Eyes, her Hair, her Cheek, her Gate, her Voice,

Handlest in thy Discourse—O that! her Hand!—
(In whose Comparison, all Whites are Ink
Writing their own Reproach) to whose soft seizure
The Cignets Down is harsh, and Spirit of Sense
Hard as the Palm of Ploughman. This thou tell'st me;
As true thou tell'st me; when I say I love her:
But saying thus, instead of Oil and Balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that Love hath given me,
The Knife that made it.

Pan.

I speak no more than Truth.

Troi.

Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan.

'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is, if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Troi.

Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus?

Pan.

I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: Gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi.

What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan.

Because she is Kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and she were not Kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a Black-a-More, 'tis all one to me.

Troi.

Say I, she is not fair?

Pan.

I do not care whether you do or no. She's a Fool to stay behind her Father: Let her to the Greeks, and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.

Troi.

Pandarus—

Pan.

Not I.

Troi.

Sweet Pandarus—

Pan.

Pray you speak no more to me, I will leave all as I found it, and there's an end.

Troi.
Peace, you ungracious Clamours, peace rude Sounds.
Fools on both sides, Helen must needs be fair,
When with your Blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this Argument,
It is too starv'd a Subject for my Sword:
But Pandarus—O Gods! how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandarus,

And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woe,
As she is stubborn, chast, against all sute.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's Love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we:
Her Bed is India, there she lyes, a Pearl,
Between our Ilium, and where she resides
Let it be call'd the mild and wandring Flood,
Our self the Merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful Hope, our Convoy, and our Bark. Alarum. Enter Æneas.

Æne.
How now, Prince Troilus?
Wherefore not i'th' Field?

Troi.
Because not there; this Woman's answer sorts,
For womanish it is to be from thence:
What News, Æneas, from the Field to day?

Æne.
That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

Troi.
By whom, Æneas?

Æne.
Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi.
Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to Scorn.
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus Horn. [Alarum.

Æne.
Hark, what good Sport is out of Town to day?

Troi.
Better at home, if Would I might, were May—
But to the Sport abroad—are you bound thither?

Æne.
In all swift haste.

Troi.
Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. Enter Cressida and a Servant.

Cre.
Who were those went by?

Ser.
Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre.
And whither go they?

Ser.
Up to the Eastern Tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the Vale,
To see the Battel; Hector, whose Patience
Is as a Virtue fix'd, to day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his Armorer,
And like as there were Husbandry in War
Before the Sun rose, he was harnest light,
And to the Field goes he; where ev'ry Flower
Did as a Prophet weep what it foresaw,
In Hector's Wrath.

Cre.
What was his cause of Anger?

Ser.
The noise goes this;
There is among the Greeks,
A Lord of Trojan Blood, Nephew to Hector,
They call him Ajax.

Cre.
Good; and what of him?

Ser.

They say he is a very Man per se, and stands alone.

Cre.

So do all Men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no Legs.

Ser.

This Man, Lady, hath robb'd many Beasts of their particular Additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churlish as the Bear, slow as the Elephant; a Man into whom Nature hath so crowded Humors, that his Valour is crusht into Folly, his Folly sauced with Discretion: There is no Man hath a Virtue, that he hath not a Glimpse of, nor any Man an Attaint, but he carries some Stain of it. He is melancholy without Cause, and merry against the Hair; he hath the Joints of every thing, but every thing so out of Joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many Hands and no use; or purblinded Argus, all Eyes and no Sight.

Cre.

But how should this Man (that makes me smile) make Hector angry?

Ser.

They say, he Yesterday cop'd Hector in the Battel and struck him down, the Disdain and Shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Cre.

Who comes here?

Ser.

Madam, your Unkle Pandarus.

Cre.

Hector's a gallant Man.

Ser.

As may be in the World, Lady.

Pan.

What's that? what's that?

Cre.

Good morrow, Uncle Pandarus.

Pan.

Good morrow, Cosin Cressid: what do you talk of? good morrow, Alexander; how do you, Cousin? when were you at Ilium?

Cre.

This Morning, Unkle.

Pan.

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

Cre.

Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.

Pan.

E'n 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 a 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'others 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, Neice; Helen her self swore th'other Day, that Troilus for a brown Favor, (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 doe. She came to him th'other Day into the compast Window, and you know he has not past three or four Hairs on his Chin.

Cre.

Indeed a Tapsters Arithmetic 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 Phrigia.

Cre.

Oh, he smiles valiantly.

Pan.

Does he not?

Cre.

Oh yes, and '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 chose but Laugh to think how she tickled his Chin; indeed she has a Marvel's 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 Eye 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's Chin.

Cre.

And '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 two 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: Two 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't out and give it him: But there was such laughing, and Helen so blush'd, and Paris so chaft, 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, as '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 Neice do, sweet Neice 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, the Rich shall have more.

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 a 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; laying on, tak't off who will, as they say; there be hacks.

Cre.

Be those with Swords?

Swords, any thing, he cares not, and the Devil come to him, it's all one; by Godslid it does ones Heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: Look ye yonder, Neice, 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?

Helenus passes over.

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, Neice—hem—brave Troilus; the Prince of Chivalry.

Cre.

Peace, for shame, peace.

Pan.

Mark him, note him: O brave Troilus: Look well upon him, Neice, 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 Mony to boot.

Cre.

Here come more.

Pan.

Asses, Fools, Dolts, Chaff and Bran, Chaff and Bran; Porridge after Meat. I could live and dye 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 lye.

Cre.

Upon my Back, to defend my Belly; upon my Wit, to defend my Wiles; upon my Secresie, to defend mine Honesty; my Mask to defend my Beauty, and you to defend all these; and at all these Wards I lye 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.

Boy.

Sir, my Lord would instantly speak with you.

Pan.

Where?

Boy.

At your own House.

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 Pan.
Words, Vows, Gifts, Tears, and Loves 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, the Soul's joy lyes in doing:
That she belov'd, knows nought that knows not this;
Men prize the thing ungain'd, more than it is.
That she, was never yet, that ever knew
Love go so sweet, as when desire did sue:
Atchievement is command; ungain'd, beseech.
Therefore this Maxim out of Love I teach;
That though my Hearts Content's firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine Eyes appear. [Exit.

SCENE II. Agamemnon's Tent in the Grecian Camp. Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus, with others.

Agam.
Princes;
What Grief hath set the Jaundise on your Cheeks?
The ample Proposition that hopes make
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 seven 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 gav'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 Wife and Fool, the Artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd, and kins.
But in the Wind and Tempest of her Frown,
Distinction with a loud and powerful Fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath Mass, or Matter by it self,
Lies rich in Virtue, and unmingled.

Nest.
With due observance of thy godly Seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest Words.
In the reproof of Chance,

Lies the true proof of Men: The Sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble Boats dare sail
Upon her patient Breast, making their way
With those of noble Bulk?
But let the Ruffian Borcas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon, behold,
The strong ribb'd Bark thro' liquid Mountains cuts,
Bounding between the two moist Elements,
Like Perseus Horse: Where's then the sawcy Boat.
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd Greatness? Either to harbour fled,
Or made a Tost 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 the splitting Wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted Oaks,
And Flies fled under shade, why then
The thing of Courage,
As rowz'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize,
And with an accent tun'd in self-same Key,
Retires to chiding Fortune.

Ulys.
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 Merit, [To Aga.
And thou most reverend for thy stretch-out Life, [To Nest.
I give to both your Speeches, which were such,
As Agamemnon and the Hand of Greece
Should hold up high in Brass; and such again
As venerable Nestor (hatch'd in Silver)
Should with a bond of Air, strong as the Axle-tree
On which the Heavens ride, knit all Greeks Ears
To his experienc'd Tongue: Yet let it please both
(Thou Great and Wise) to hear Ulysses speak.

Aga.
Speak, Prince of Ithaca: and be't of less expect,
That matter needless, of importless burthen

Divide thy Lips; than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff Jaws,
We shall hear Musick, Wit, and Oracle.

Ulys.
Troy, yet upon her Basis, had been down,
And the great Hector's Sword had lack'd a Master,
But for these instances.
The speciality of Rule hath been neglected;
And look how many Grecian Tents do stand
Hollow upon this Plain, so many hollow Factions.
When that the General is not like the Hive,
To whom the Foragers shall all repair,
What Hony is expected? Degree being vizarded,
Th' unworthiest shews as fairly in the Mask.
The Heavens themselves, the Planets, and this Center,
Observe degree, priority and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office and custom, in all line of Order:
And therefore is the glorious Planet Sol,
In noble Eminence, enthron'd and sphear'd
Amidst the other, whose med'cinable Eye
Corrects the ill Aspects of Planets evil,
And posts like the Command'ment of a King,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the Planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What Plagues, and what Portents, what Mutiny?
What raging of the Sea? shaking of Earth?
Commotion in the Winds? Frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
The unity, and married calm of States
Quite from their fixure? O, when Degree is shaken,
(Which is the Ladder to all high Designs)
The Enterprize is sick. How could Communities,
Degrees in Schools, and Brotherhoods in Cities,
Peaceful Commerce from dividable Shores,
The Primogeniture, and due of Birth,
Prerogative of Age, Crowns, Scepters, Lawrels,
(But by Degree) stand in Authentick Place?
Take but Degree away, untune that String,
And hark what Discord follows; each thing meets
In meer oppugnancy. The bounded Waters
Would list their Bosoms higher than the Shores,

And make a sop of all this solid Globe:
Strength would be Lord of Imbecility,
And the rude Son would strike his Father dead:
Force would be Right; or rather, Right and Wrong
(Between whose endless jar Justice resides)
Would lose their Names, and so would Justice too.
Then every thing includes it self in Power,
Power into Will, Will into Appetite,
And Appetite (an universal Wolf,
So doubly seconded with Will and Power)
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last, eat up himself.
Great Agamemnon,
This Chaos, when Degree is suffocate,
Follows the choaking:
And this neglection of Degree is it,
That by a pace goes backward, in 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 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.

Aga.
The Nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the Remedy?

Ulys.
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. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless Deputation he puts on;

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-rested 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; as near as the extreamest Ends
Of Parallels; as like as Vulcan and his Wife:
Yet good 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 Palsie 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
All our Abilities, Gifts, Natures, Shapes,
Severals and generals of Grace exact,
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, to make Paradoxes.

Nest.
And in the Imitation of these twain,
Who, as Ulysses says, Opinion crowns
With an Imperial Voice, many are insect:
Ajax is grown self-will'd, and 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, rai s 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,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.

Ulys.
They tax our Policy, and call it Cowardise,
Count Wisdom as no Member of the War,
Fore-stall 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 calls them on, 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. 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 Kingly Ears?

Aga.
With surety stronger than 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.
Ay: I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And on 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 that he prais'd himself, bring the Praise forth:
What the repining Enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that Praise sole pure transcends.

Aga.
Sir, you of Troy, call you your self, 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 long continu'd Truce
Is rusty grown, he bad 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 more than in Confession,

(With truant Vows 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 rowze 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-burnt, 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 have 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, I'll be he.

Nest.
Tell him of Nestor; one that was a Man
When Hector's Gransire suckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian mold,
One Nobleman, 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,
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 is flood,
I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of Blood.

Æne.
Now Heav'ns forbid such scarcity of Youth.

Ulys.
Amen.

Aga.
Fair Lord Æneas,
Let me touch your Hand:
To our Pavillion shall I lead you first:
Achilles shall have word of this Intent,
So shall each Lord of Greece from Tent to Tent:
Your felf shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a Noble Foe. [Exeunt.

Manent Ulysses and Nestor.

Ulys.
Nestor.

Nest.
What says Ulysses?

Ulys.
I have a young Conception in my Brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

Nest.
What is't?

Ulys.
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 Nursery of like evil
To over-bulk us all.

Nest.
Well, and how now?

Ulys.
This Challenge that the valiant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general Name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest.
The purpose is perspicuous even as Substance,
Whose grossness little Characters sum up,
And in the publication make no strain:
But that Achilles, were his Brain as barren
As Banks of Lybia, tho', Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough, will with great speed of Judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Ulys.
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't be 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 poiz'd
In this wild Action. For the success,
Although particular, shall have a scantling
Of good or bad, unto the General:
And in such Indexes, although 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,
Which entertain'd, Limbs are his Instruments,
In no less working, than are Swords and Bows
Directive by the Limbs.

Ulys.
Give pardon to my Speech:
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector:
Let us, like Merchants, shew our fowlest Wares,
And think perchance they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better, yet to shew,
Shall shew the better. Do not 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?

Ulys.
What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should wear 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: Among our selves,
Give him allowance as the worthyer Man,
For that will Physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in lowd 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 projects life this shape of sense assumes,
Ajax imploy'd, plucks down Achilles Plumes,

Nest.
Now Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon, go we to him streight;

Two Curs shall tame each other; Pride alone
Must tar the Mastiffs on, as 'twere their Bone. [Exeunt.

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