Which hath an operation more divine,

Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to:
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord;
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena:

But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,—
Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;

The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit. Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you:

A woman impudent and mannish grown

Is not more loathed than an effeminate man

In time of action. I stand condemned for this;
They think my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.

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 gored.

Patr.

O, then beware;

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves:
Omission to do what is necessary

Seals a commission to a blank1 of danger;

And danger, like an ague, subtly taints

A blank] The blank was the white centre of a target.

Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus: I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him

To invite the Trojan lords after the combat,

To see us here unarmed: I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal,

To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;

Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view.-A labour saved! 1

Enter THERSITES.

Ther. A wonder !

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

A chil. How so?

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,—a stride and a stand: ruminates, like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say-There were wit in this head, an 't would out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man 's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' the combat, he 'll break 't himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, Good morrow, Ajax; and he replies, Thanks, Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general? Ile's grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A

1 A labour saved] That is, you are saved the trouble of going to call Thersites.

plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in 's arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the Pageant 2 of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him,-I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this.

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax!

Ther. Hum!

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,—
Ther. Ha!

Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent;

Ther. Hum!

Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.

Ther. Agamemnon ?

Patr. Ay, my lord.

Ther. Ha!

Patr. What say you to 't?

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart.

Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay

ere he has me.

Opinion] Reputation.

2 The Pageant] The mimic representation.

for ine

Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: but, I am sure, none,—unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.1

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred; And I myself see not the bottom of it.

[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance.

To make catlings on] To make catgut strings of.

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Troy. A Street.

Enter, at one side, ENEAS, and Servant with a torch; at the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDEs, and

others, with torches.

Par. See, ho! who's that there?

Dei.

'Tis the lord Eneas.

Ene. Is the prince there in person ?

Had I so good occasion to lie long,

As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business

Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

Dio. That 's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Æneas. Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas,-take his hand,

Witness the process of your speech, wherein

You told how Diomed, in a whole week by days,'
Did haunt you in the field.

Ene.

Health to you, valiant sir,

During all question of the gentle truce:

But when I meet you armed, as black defiance,

As heart can think or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.

Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health :

In a whole week by days] This means seven days, not all in one week.