Ther.

Make that demand to the Creator, it suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here?

Achil.

Patroclus, I'll speak with no Body: Come in with me, Thersites.

Ther.

Here is such Patchery, such Jugling, and such Knavery: all the Argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulatious Factions, and bleed to Death upon: Now the dry Serpigo on the Subject, and War and Lechery confound all.

Aga.

Where is Achilles?

Patr.
Within his Tent, but ill dispos'd, my Lord.

Aga.
Let it be known to him that we are here.
He sent our Messengers, and we lay by
Our Appertainments, visiting of him:

Let him be told of, lest perchance he think
VVe dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Patr.
I shall so say to him.

Ulys.
VVe saw him at the opening of his Tent,
He is not sick.

Ajax.

Yes, Lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may call it Melancholy, if you will favour the Man, but by my head, 'tis Pride; but why, why?—let him shew us the cause. A Word, my Lord.

Nest.

VVhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Ulys.

Achilles hath inveigled his Fool from him.

Nest.

Who, Thersites?

Ulys.

He.

Nest.

Then will Ajax lack Matter, if he have lost his Argument.

Ulys.

No, you see he is his Argument, that has his Argument, Achilles.

Nest.

All the better, their Fraction is more our wish than their Faction; but it was a strong Counsel that a Fool could disunite.

Ulys.

The Amity that Wisdom knits not, Folly may easily untye.

Here comes Patroclus.

Nest.

No Achilles with him?

Ulys.
The Elephant hath Joints, but none for Courtesie;
His Legs are Legs for necessity, not for flight.

Patr.
Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
If any thing more than your Sport and Pleasure,
Did move your Greatness, and this noble State,
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-sake;
An after-Dinner's Breath.

Aga.
Hear you, Patroclus;
We are too well acquainted with these Answers:
But his evasion wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outflie our Apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason,
Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his Virtues,
(Not virtuously of his own part beheld)
Do in our Eyes begin to lose their Gloss;

And like fair Fruit in an unwholsom Dish,
Are like to rot untasted; go and tell him,
We come to speak with him, and you shall not sin;
If you do say, we think him over-proud,
And under-honest; in Self-assumption greater
Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself,
Here tend the savage Strangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy Strength of their command,
And under write in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lines, his ebbs, his flows; as if
The passage and whole carriage of this Action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price so much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an Engine
Not portable, lye under this report.
Bring Action hither, this cannot go to War:
A stirring Dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a sleeping Gyant; tell him so.

Pat.
I shall, and bring his answer presently. [Exit.

Aga.
In second Voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. [Exit Ulysses.

Ajax.

What is he more than another?

Aga.

No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax.

Is he so much? do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than I am?

Aga.

No question.

Ajax.

Will you subscribe his Thought, and say, he is?

Aga.

No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.

Ajax.

Why should a Man be proud? How doth Pride grow? I know not what it is.

Aga.

Your Mind is clearer, Ajax, and your Virtues the fairer; he that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own Glass, his own Trumpet, his own Chronicle, and whatever Praises it self but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praise.

Enter Ulysses.

Ajax.

I do hate a proud Man, as I hate the engendring of Toads.

Nest.
Yet he loves himself: Is't not strange?

Ulys.
Achilles will not to the Field to Morrow.

Aga.
What's his Excuse?

Ulys.
He doth rely on none;
But carries on the Stream of his Dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In Will peculiar, and in Self-admission,

Aga.
Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his Person, and share the Air with us?

Ulys.
Things small as Nothing, for Requests sake only
He makes Important: Possest he is with Greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a Pride
That quarrels at Self-breath. Imagin'd Wrath
Holds in his Blood such swol'n and hot Discourse,
That 'twixt his mental and his active Parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters 'gainst it self; what should I say?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry no recovery.

Aga.
Let Ajax go to him.
Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his Tent;
'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led
At your request, a little from himself.

Ulys.
O, Agamemnon, let it not be so.
We'll consecrate the Steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles; shall the proud Lord,
That bastes his Arrogance with his own Seam,
And never suffers matter of the World
Enter his Thoughts, save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself? Shall he be worship'd,
Of that we hold an Idol, more than he?
No, this Thrice Worthy, and Right Valiant Lord,
Must not so stale his Palm, nobly acquir'd,
Nor by my Will assubjugate his Merit,
As amply Titl'd, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles.
That were to enlard his Fat, already, Pride,
And add more Coles to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,
And say in Thunder, Achilles go to him.

Nest.
O this is well, he rubs the Vein of him.

Dio.
And how his silence drinks up his Applause.

Ajax.

If I go to him—with my armed Fist, I'll pash him o'er the Face.

Aga.

O no, you shall not go.

Ajax.

And a be proud with me, I'll phese his Pride; let me go to him.

Ulys.

Not for the worth that hangs upon our Quarrel.

Ajax.

A paultry Insolent Fellow—

Nest.

How he describes himself.

Ajax.

Can he not be sociable?

Ulys.

The Raven chides blackness.

Ajax.

I'll let his Humours Blood.

Aga.

He will be the Physician, that should be the Patient.

Ajax.

And all Men were a my Mind—

Ulys.

Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax.

A should not bear it so, a should eat Swords first; shall Pride carry it?

Nest.

And 'twould, you'd carry half.

Ulys.

A would have ten shares.

Ajax.

I will knead him, I'll make him supple, he's not yet through warm.

Nest.

Force him with Praises, pour in, pour in, his Ambition is dry.

Ulys.
My Lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

Nest.
Our noble General, do not do so.

Dio.
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

Ulys.
Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a Man—but 'tis before his Face—
I will be silent.

Nest.
Wherefore should you so?
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulys.
Know the whole World, he is as valiant.

Ajax.

A whorson Dog! that shall palter thus with us— would he were a Trojan.

Nest.
What a Vice were it in Ajax now—

Ulys.
If he were proud.

Dio.
Or covetous of Praise.

Ulys.
Ay, or surly born.

Dio.
Or strange, or self-affected.

Ulys.
Thank the Heavens, Lord, thou art of a sweet Composure
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Fame be thy Tutor, and thy parts of Nature
Thrice fam'd beyond, beyond all Erudition;
But he that disciplin'd thy Arms to fight,
Let Mars divide Eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy Vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To Sinewy Ajax: I will not praise thy Wisdom
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts; here's Nestor
Instructed by the Antiquary times:
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise.
But pardon, Father Nestor, were your Days
As green as Ajax, and your Brain so temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him
But be as Ajax.

Ajax.
Shall I call you Father?

Ulys.
Ay, my good Son.

Dio.
Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulys.
There is no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles
Keeps thicket; please it our General,
To call together all this State of War;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to Morrow
We must with all our main of Power stand fast:
And here's a Lord (come Knights from East to West,
And cull their Flower) Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga.
Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep;
Light Boats may sail swift, though great bulks draw deep. [Exeunt. Musick sounds within.

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