Ulyss.
Nestor,—

Nest.
What says Ulysses?

Ulyss.
I have a young conception in my brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

Nest.
What is't?

Ulyss.
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?

Ulyss.
This Challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest.
^{6 note}
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 Libya, (tho', Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough,) will with great speed of judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Ulyss.
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 a sportful combat,
Yet in this tryal 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 pois'd
In this wild action. For the success,
Although particular, shall give 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.

Ulyss.
Give pardon to my Speech;
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better, yet to shew,
Shall shew the better. Do not then 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?

Ulyss.
What Glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share 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: 'mong our selves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud 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 project's life this shape of Sense assumes,
Ajax, imploy'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.

Nest.
Ulysses, Now I 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
^{7 note}

Must tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt.

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