Of judgment: fay, men worthier than himself His humorous predominance; yea, watch We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine 68 Bring action hither, this can't go to war : "A ftirring dwarf we do allowance give, "Before a fleeping giant ;" tell him fo. Patr. I fhall, and bring his anfwer prefently. [Exit. Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfied, We come to speak with him. Ulyffes, enter. Ajax. What is he more than another? [Exit Ulyffes. Aga. No more than what he thinks he is. Ajax. Is he fo much? do you not think, he thinks himfelf a better man than I am ? Aga. No queftion. Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay, he is.? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no lefs noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. Ajax. Why fhould a man be proud? how doth pridegrow? I know not what it is. Aga. Your mind is clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer; he, that is proud, eats up himfelf. Pride is his own glafs, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praifes itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praife. Re-enter Ulyffes. Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring. of toads. Neft. Yet he loves himself: is't not strange? Aga. Aga. What's his excuse? Ulyf. He doth rely on none; But carries on the ftream of his difpofe, Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, And batters down himself; what fhould I fay? Aga. Let Ajax go to him. Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his tent; "Tis faid, he holds you well, and will be led At your request a little from himself. Úlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo. We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes, When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud Lord, Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve (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 This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid, And fay in thunder, Achilles, go to him! Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him. Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applaufe! Ajax. Ajax. If I go to him-with my armed fift I'll pafh him o'er the face. Aga. O no, you fhall not go. Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride; Ict me go to him. Uly. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. Neft. How he defcribes himself! Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that fhould be the patient. Ulf. Wit would be out of fashion. Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he should eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it? Neft. Antwould, you'd carry half. Uh. He would have ten fhares. Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, Neft. He's not yet through warm: (13) force him with praifes; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. Uly. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo. Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Uy. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm. Here is a man- -but 'tis before his face I will be filent. Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is. Uly. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. (15) Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make bim fupple, he is not yet through warm. Neft. Force bim with praises; &c.] The latter part of Ajax's Speech is certainly got out of Place, and ought to be affigned to Nefior, as I have ventured to tranfpole it. Ajax is feeding on his Vanity, and boafting what he'll do to Achilles; he'll path him o'er the Face, he'll make him eat Swords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Ulyffes lily labour to keep him up in this Vein; and to this End Neflor craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more Flattery. Ajax. A whorefon dog! that palters thus with us "Would he were a Trojan! Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now Ulyf. If he were proud. Dio. Or covetous of praife. Üly. Ay, or furly borne. Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected. Uly. Thank, the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of fweet compofure ; Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck: To finewy Ajax; I'll not praife thy wisdom, He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife: Ajax. Shall I call you father? Úlf. Ay, my good fon. Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. Uly. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our great General To call together all his ftate of war; Fresh Kings are come to Troy: to-morrow, friends, And here's a Lord, come Knights from Eaft to Weft, Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt. ACT ACT III. SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy. Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within. F PANDAR U s. RIEND! you! pray you, a word: do not you Serv. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean? Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman: I muft needs praise him. Serv. The Lord be praised! Pan. You know me, do you not? Serv. Faith, Sir, fuperficially. Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus. Pan. I do defire it. Serv. You are in the ftate of grace. Pan. Grace? not fo, friend: Honour, and Lordship, are my titles: What mufick is this? Serv. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts. Serv. Wholly, Sir. Pan. Who play they to? Serv. To the hearers, Sir. Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend? Serv. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufick. Pan. Command, I mean, friend. Serv. Who fhall I command, Sir? Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose requeft do thefe men play? |