Which his own will shall have desire to drink. Ach. What, comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind; I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. Aga. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us? Nes. Would you, my lord, aught with the general ? Ach, What, does the cuckold scorn me? Ach. Good morrow. Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. Ach. What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles? Pat. They pass by strangely: they were used to bend, To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; Ach. What, am I poor of late? Fortune, "Tis certain, Greatness, once fallen out with Must fall out with men too. What the declined is, As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, Hath any honor; but honor for those honors At ample point all that I did possess, Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out Something not worth in me such rich beholding I'll interrupt his reading. How now, Ulysses? Ulys. Ach. What are you reading? Ulys. Now, great Thetis' son? A strange fellow here Writes me, that man, how dearly ever parted,1 Ach. Till it hath travell'd, and is married there (Though in and of him there be much consisting) 1 However excellently endowed. The voice again; or, like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; And apprehended here immediately The unknown Ajax.1 Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse, That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are, Most abject in regard, and dear in use! What things again most dear in the esteem, While some men leave to do! How some men creep in skittish Fortune's hall, Ach. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me, Ajax, who has abilities, which were never brought into view or use. A great-sized monster of ingratitudes. Those scraps are good deeds past, which are de vour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honor bright. To have done, is to hang In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; That one by one pursue: if you give way, Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: For Time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, And Farewell goes out sighing. O, let not Virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, To envious and calumniating Time. |