Ajax.

I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring of toads.

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

Ulyss.
Achilles will not to the field to morrow.

Aga.
What's his excuse?

Ulyss.
He doth rely on none;

But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
^{9 note}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?

Ulyss.
Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
He makes important: ^{1 note}he's possest with greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself; 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.

Ulyss.
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 matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself,) shall he be worshipp'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 titled, as Achilles is,) by going to Achilles:
That were t' inlard his pride, already fat,
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!

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

Dio.
And how his silence drinks up this 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.

An he be proud with me, I ll pheese his pride; let me go to him.

Ulyss.

Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Ajax.

A paltry insolent fellow—

Nest.

How he describes himself!

Ajax.

Can he not be sociable?

Ulyss.

The raven chides blackness.

Ajax.

I'll let his humours blood.

Aga.

He'll be the physician, that should be the patient.

Ajax.

And all men were o' my mind—

Ulyss.

Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax.

He should not bear it so, he should eat swords first: shall pride carry it?

Nest.
An 'twould, you'd carry half.

Ulyss.
He would have ten shares.

^{2 note}Ajax.
I will knead him, I'll make him supple—

Nest.

He is not yet through warm: force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

Ulyss.
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.

Ulyss.
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.

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

Ajax.
A whorson dog! that palters thus with us—
Would he were a Trojan!

Nest.
What a vice were it in Ajax now—

Ulyss.
If he were proud.

Dio.
Or covetous of praise.

Ulyss.
Ay, or surly borne.

Dio.
Or strange, or self-affected.

Ulyss.
Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee suck:
Fam'd 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 yields
To sinewy Ajax; I'll 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?

Ulyss.
Ay, my good son.

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

Ulyss.
There is no tarrying here; the Hart Achilles
Keeps thicket; please it our great General
To call together all his State of war;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy: to morrow, friends,

We must with all our main of pow'r stand fast:
And here's a lord, come Knights from East to West,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga.
Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep;
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt.

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