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That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
And never suffers matter 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 acquired;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,

By going to Achilles :

That were to enlard his fat-already pride;

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.'
Nes. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.

[aside. Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause!

[aside.

Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him

Over the face.

2

Aga. O, no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze 3 his pride.

Let me go to him.

Ulys. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Lard.

2 Strike.

3 Comb or curry.

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Ajax.

I will let his humors blood.

Aga. He will be the physician, that should be the

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[aside.

it?

[aside.

Ajax. He should not bear it so;

He should eat swords first. Shall pride carry
Nes. An 'twould, you'd carry half.

Ulys.

He'd have ten shares.

[aside.

Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple. Nes. He's not yet thorough warm: force1 him

with praises :

Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

[aside.

Ulys. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

[to Agamemnon.

Nes. O noble general, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulys. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.

Stuff: from the French verb farcir.

Here is a man

-but 'tis before his face;

I will be silent.

Nes.

Wherefore should you so?

He is not emulous,1 as Achilles is.

Ulys. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us!

I would, he were a Trojan !

Nes.

What a vice

Were it in Ajax now

If he were proud?

Ay, or surly borne ?

Ulys.

Dio. Or covetous of praise?

Ulys.

Dio. Or strange, or self-affected?

Ulys. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet

composure;

Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-famed, beyond all erudition;

But he that disciplined thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and, for thy vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition 3 yield

To sinewy Ajax. I will 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,

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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,

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Ulys. 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,
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here's a lord,—come knights from east to west,
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt.

АСТ I I I.

SCENE I.

Troy. A room in Priam's palace.

Enter PANDARUS and servant.

Pan. Friend! you! pray you, a word. Do not you follow the young lord Paris?

Ser. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?

Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman;

I must needs praise him.

Ser. The Lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better: I am the lord Pandarus.

Ser. I hope, I shall know your honor better.
Pan. I do desire it.

Ser. You are in the state of grace. [music within. Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honor and lordship are my titles. What music is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

Ser. Wholly, sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Ser. To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?

Ser. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Ser. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

Ser. That's to 't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?

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