Ther. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Therfites is a fool, and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is a fool.

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Therfites is a fool to ferve fuch a fool, and Patroclus is a fool pofitive.

Patr. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand to thy creator;-it fuffices me, thou art.

Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, Diomedes, Ajax, and Calchas.

Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with nobody: come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is fuch patchery, fuch juggling, and fuch knavery all the argument is a cuckold and a whore, a good quarrel to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon: now the dry Serpigo on the subject, and war and letchery confound all!

Aga. Where is Achilles?

[Exit.

Patr. Within this tent, but ill difpos'd, my Lord. Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here. He fhent our meffengers, and we lay by (22)

Our appertainments, vifiting of him:

Let him be told fo, left, perchance, he think

?

(22) He fent our meffengers ;] Who fent, in the name of accuracy Whar; did Achilles fend the meffengers, who were fent by Agamemonn? I make no doubt, but the Poet wrote;

He fhent our mejengers;

i. e. rebuked, ill treated, rated out of his prefence. As, in Antory, Auguftus complains of the like treatment from that Prince;

Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts

Did gibe my miffives out of audience.

The word fhent, difgraced, shamed, (from dioxulès, as fome etymolo gifts tel us;) is frequent both in Chaucer and Spenfer; and occurs more than once again in our Author.

Clown. Alas, Sir be patient. What fay you, Sir? Iam fhent for fpeaking to you. Twelfth Night.

How in my words foever the be fhent,
To give them feals never my foul confent.

Hamlet.

We dare not move the question of our place;

Or know not what we are.

Patr. I fhall fay fo to him.

Uly. We faw him at the opening of his tent, He is not fick.

[Exit.

Ajax. Yes, lion fick, fick of a proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis pride; but why, why?-let him fhew us the cause. A word, my Lord. [To Agamemnon. Neft. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Ulyff. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Neft. Who, Therfites?

Ulyff. He.

Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have loft his argument.

Uly. No, you fee, he is his argument, that has his argument, Achilles.

Neft. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction; but it was a ftrong counsel, that a fool could difunite.

Uly. The amity, that wifdom knits not, folly may eafily untie.

Enter Patroclus.

Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him?

UlfThe elephant hath joints, but none for courtefy; His legs are for neceffity, not flexure.

Patr. Achilles bids me fay, he is much forry,
If any thing more than your fport and pleasure
Did move your greatnefs, and this noble state,
To call on him; he hopes it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-fake;
An after dinner's breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;

We are too well acquainted with these answers;
But his evafion, wing'd thus fwift with fcorn,
Cannot outfly our apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath, and much the reafon
Why we afcribe it to him; yet all his virtues

(Not

(Not virtuously on his own part beheld)
Do in our eyes begin to lofe their glofs;
And, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untafted. Go and tell him,

We come to speak with him; and you fhall not fin,
If you do fay, we think him over-proud,
In felf affumption greater than in note

Of judgment: fay, men worthier than himself
Here tend the favage ftrangenefs he puts on,
Difguife the holy ftrength of their command,
And under-go in an obferving kind

His humourous predominance; yea, watch
His courfe and times, his ebb and flows; as if
The paffage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price fo much,
We'll none of him; but let him like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report,

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 himself a better man than I am?

Aga. No question.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and say, he is? Aga No, noble Ajax, you are as Arong, as valiant,. as wife, no lefs noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.

Ajax. Why fhould a man be proud? how doth pride grow v? 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 glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle;

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and

and whatever praifes itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

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?
Ulyff Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excufe?

Ulys. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf admiffion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Untent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?

1

Uly. Things fmall as nothing, for requeft's fake only, He makes important: he's poffeft with greatness, And speaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at felf breath. Imagin'd worth Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourfe, That 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself; what should I fay? He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it Cry, no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his tent; "T'is faid, he holds you well, and will be led At your request a little from himself.

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo. We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes, When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud Lord, That baftes his arrogance with his own seam, And never fuffers matters of the world Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve And ruminate himself,) fhall he be worshipp'd Of that, we hold an idol more than he? No, this thrice worthy and right valiant Lord Muft not fo ftale his palm, nobly acquir'd; Nor, by my will, affubjugate his merit,

(As

(As amply titled, as Achilles is,) by going to Achilles : Ihat were t'inlard his pride, already fat,

And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

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. If I go to him- -with my armed fift

I'll pah him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheefe his pride; let me go to him.

Uly. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax A paltry infolent fellow-

Neft. How he defcribes him felf!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Uly. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humorous blood.

Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that should be the patient.
Ajax And all men were o'my mind-

Uly. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he should eat fwords firit: fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Uly. He would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,
Neft. He is not yet through warm: (23) force him
with praifes; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
Uly. My Lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo.

(23) Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, he is not yet through warm.

Neft. Force bim with praifes ; &c.] The latter part of Ajax's speech is certainly got out of place, and ought to be affign'd to Neftor, as I have ventur'd to tranfpofe it. Ajax is feeding on his vanity, and boafting what he'll do to Achilles; he'll pafh him o'er the face, he'll make him eat fwords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Ulyes flily labour to keep him up in this vein; and to this end Neftor craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more flattery.

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Dia