That bastes his arrogance with his own seam No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant lord By going to Achilles : That were to enlard his fat-already pride; And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid; [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. Ajax. I will let his humors blood. Aga. He will be the physician, that should be the [aside. it? [aside. Ajax. He should not bear it so; He should eat swords first. Shall pride carry 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: But he that disciplined thy arms to fight, To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, He must, he is, he cannot but be wise: But pardon, father Nestor, were your days You should not have the eminence of him, Ulys. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow, 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. 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. 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 ? |