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:
&plquo;Oh rouse your self; and the weak wanton Cupid
&plquo;Shall from your neck unloose his am'rous fold,
&plquo;And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
&plquo;Be shook 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:
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: I have a woman's longing,
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,
Ev'n to my full of view.—A labour sav'd!

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