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;Sweet, 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.&prquo;

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 unarm'd: 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!

Previous section

Next section