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 on him?
If so, I have decision medicinable
To use between our strangeness and his pride,
Which his own will shall have desire to drink.
It may do good: Pride hath no other glass
To shew it self, 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 ought with us?

Nest.
Would you, my lord, ought 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?
&plquo;'Tis certain, Greatness once fall'n out with fortune
&plquo;Must fall out with men too: what the declin'd is,
&plquo;He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
&plquo;As feel in his own fall: for men, like butter-flies,
&plquo;Shew not their mealy wings but to the summer;
&plquo;And not a man, for being simply man,
&plquo;Hath honour, but is honour'd by those honours
&plquo;That are without him; as place, riches, favour,
&plquo;Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
&plquo;Which when they fall (as being slipp'ry standers)
&plquo;The love that lean'd on them, as slipp'ry too,
&plquo;Doth one pluck down another, and together

Dye 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 methinks find out
Something in me not worth that rich beholding
As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his reading.—Now Ulysses?

Ulys.
Now, Thetis' son!

Achil.
What are you reading?

Ulys.
A strange fellow here
Writes me, that Man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in having or without, or in,
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.

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

Ulys.
I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar; but the author's drift;
Who in his circumstance expresly proves
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Tho' in and of him there is much consisting)
'Till he communicate his parts to others:

Nor doth he of himself know them for ought,
'Till he behold them formed in th' applause
Where they're extended; which like an arch reverb'rates
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
The unknown Ajax—
Heav'ns! what a man is there? a very horse,
^{s note}He knows not his own nature: What things 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! O heav'ns, what some men do,
While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes:
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords! why ev'n already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil.
This I do believe,
They pass'd by me, as misers do by beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What, are my deeds forgot?

&plquo;Ulys.
&plquo;Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
&plquo;Wherein he puts alms for oblivion:
&plquo;(A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes)
&plquo;Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd
&plquo;As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

&plquo;As done: perseverance keeps honour bright:
&plquo;To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
&plquo;Like rusty Mail 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 turn aside from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred tide they all rush by,
And leave you hindermost; and there you lye
Like to a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
For pavement to the abject, near o'er-run
And trampled on: Then what they do in present,
Tho' less than yours in past, must o'er-top yours.
&plquo;For time is like a fashionable host,
&plquo;That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand;
&plquo;But with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
&plquo;Grasps in the comer; Welcome ever smiles,
&plquo;And Farewel goes out sighing. O let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit, high birth, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin;
That all with one consent praise new-born gauds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things past;* ^note




The present eye praises the present object.
Then marvel not, thou great and compleat man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,

Than what not stirs. The cry ^{t note}went once for thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thy self alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent;
Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil.
Of 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,
Knows almost ev'ry grain of Pluto's gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deep;
Keeps place with thought; and almost like the gods
Does ev'n our thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles:
There is a mystery (with which relation
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath of 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 his island 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 ^{u note}Hector.

Farewel, my lord—I, as your lover, speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit.

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