Ach.

Patroclus ^note, I'll speak with nobody:—Come in with me, Thersites.

The.

Here is such patchery, such jugling, and such knavery! all the argument is—a cuckold, and a whore ^note; A good quarrel, to draw emulous ^note factions, and bleed to

death upon. Now the dry serpigo ^note on the subject! and war, and lechery, confound all. ^{note note}

Aga.

Where is Achilles?

Pat.

Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.

Aga.
Let it be known to him, that we are here.
He sent us ^note messengers ^note; and we lay by
Our appertainments ^note, visiting of him:
Let him be told so; ^note lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Pat.
I shall so say to him. [Exit.

Uly.
We saw him at the op'ning of his tent,
He is not sick.

Aja.

Yes, lion-sick, sick of a ^note 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 a cause ^note.—A word, my lord. ^note

Nes.

What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Uly.

Achilles hath inveigl'd his fool from him.

Nes.

Who? Thersites?

Uly.

He.

Nes.

Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.

Uly.

No; you see, he is his argument, that has his argument; Achilles.

Nes.

All the better; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction: But it was a strong composure, a ^note fool could disunite.

Uly.

The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untye. Here comes Patroclus.

Nes.
No Achilles with him.

Uly.
The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy;
His legs are for ^note necessity, not for flexure. ^note

Pat.
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. ^note

Aga.
Hear you, Patroclus;—
We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot out-fly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath; and much the reason,
Why we ascribe it to him: yet all his virtues,—
Not virtuously on his ^note own part beheld,—
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss;
Yea, like ^note fair fruit in an unwholsome 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 ^note the savage strangeness he puts on;
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And underwrite in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lunes ^note,14Q1217 his ebbs, his flows, as if ^note
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, lie under this report—
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a sleeping giant: Tell him so.

Pat.
I shall; and bring his answer presently. [Exit Patroclus.

Aga.
In second voice we'll not be satisfy'd,
We come to speak with him:—Ulysses, enter ^note you. [Exit Ulysses.

Aja.
What is he more than another?

Aga.
No more than what he thinks he is.

Aja.
Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks himself
A better man than I?

Aga.
No question.

Aja.
Will you subscribe his thought, and say—he is?

Aga.
No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant,
As wise too, no less noble, much more gentle,
And altogether more tractable.

Aja.
Why should a man be proud?
How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is ^note.

Aga.
Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, ^note and your virtues
The fairer. He that's proud, eats up himself:
Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his
Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself
But in the deed, devours the deed i'the praise.

Aja.
I do hate a proud man, as I hate ^note the engend'ring of toads.

&clquo;Nes.
&clquo;And ^note yet he loves himself; Is it not strange?&crquo; Re-enter Ulysses.

Uly.
Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

Aga.
What's his excuse?

Uly.
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,
Untent his person, and share the air with us?

Uly.
Things small as nothing, for request's 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 worth ^note
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion ^note rages,
And batters 'gainst itself ^note: 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 ^note,
At your request, a little from himself.

Uly.
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 doth revolve ^note
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 ^note as Achilles' is,

By going to Achilles:
That were to enlard his fat-already pride;
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid;
And say in thunder—Achilles, go to him.

&clquo;Nes.
&clquo;O, this is well; he rubs the vein ^note of him.&crquo;

&clquo;Dio.
&clquo;And how his silence drinks up this ^note applause!&crquo;

Aja.
If I go to him, with my armed fist
I'll pash ^note him o'er the face.

Aga.
O, no, you shall not go.

Aja.
An he be ^note proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride:—
Let me go to him.

Uly.
Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Aja.
A paltry insolent fellow,—

&clquo;Nes.
&clquo;How he describes himself!&crquo;

Aja.
Can he not be sociable?

&clquo;Uly.
&clquo;The raven chides blackness.&crquo;

Aja.
I'll let his humours blood ^note.

&clquo;Aga.
&clquo;He will ^note be the physician, that should be the patient.&crquo;

Aja.
An all men were o'my mind,—

&clquo;Uly.
&clquo;Wit would be out of fashion.

Aja.
he ^note should not bear it so,
He should eat swords first: Shall pride carry it?

&clquo;Nes.
&clquo;An 'twould, you'd carry half.&crquo;

&clquo;Uly.
&clquo;He would have ten shares.&crquo;

Aja.
I'll knead him, I will make him supple:

&clquo;Nes.
&clquo;He's not yet thorough ^note warm: ^note force him with praises ^note;&crquo;14Q1218
&clquo;Pour in, pour in; his ^note ambition is dry.&crquo;

Uly.
My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. [to Agamemnon.

Nes.
Our noble general, do not do so.

Dio.
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

Uly.
Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
Here † is a man—But 'tis before his face;
I will be silent.

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

Uly.
Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Aja.
A whorson dog, that shall palter thus with us! ^note
'Would, he were a Trojan!

Nes.
What a vice were it in our Ajax now—

Uly.
If he were proud?

Dio.
Or covetous of praise?

Uly.
Ay, or surly born?

Dio.
Or strange, or self-affected?

Uly.
Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Fam'd be ^note thy tutor; and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, beyond beyond ^note all erudition:
But he that disciplin'd thy arms ^note to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and, for thy vigor, lord,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn ^note, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious ^note and dilated parts: Here's Nestor,—
Instructed by the antiquary times,
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise;— ^note
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 ^note Ajax.

Aja.
Shall I call you father?

Uly.
Ay, my ^note good son.

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

Uly.
There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
Keeps thicket. ^note Please it our great ^note general,
To call together all his ^note state of war;
Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow, sirs,
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here's † a lord,—come knights from east to west,
And cull ^note their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga.
Go we to counsel. Let Achilles sleep:
Light boats sail ^note swift, though greater hulks ^note draw deep. [Exeunt.

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