While fome men leave to do! How fome men creep in skittish Fortune's Hall, Achil. This I do believe; For they paffed by me, as mifers do by beggars, Uly. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, (A great-fiz'd monster of Ingratitudes) Thole fcraps are good deeds paft, which are devour'd As done: Perfeverance keeps Honour bright: That one by one purfue; if you give way, That flightly shakes his parting Gueft by th' hand; And Farewell goes out fighing. O, let not virtue feek For beauty, wit, high birth, defert in service, To To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin; Whofe glorious deeds, but in thefe fields of late, Achil. Of my privacy I have ftrong reasons. Ulyf. 'Gainft your privacy The Reasons are more potent and heroical. 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters. Achil. Ha! known! Uly. Is that a wonder? The providence, that's in a watchful State, Keeps place with thought; and almoft, like the Gods, Durft never meddle) in the Soul of State; (29) And go to duft, that is a little gilt, More Laud than Gilt o'er-dufted.] In this mangled Condition do we find this truly fine Obfervation transmitted in the old Folio's. Mr. Pope faw it was corrupt, and therefore, as I prefume, threw it out of the i ext; because he would not indulge his private Senfe in attempting to make Senie of it. I owe the Foundation of the Amendment, which I have given to the Text, to the Sagacity of the ingenious Dr. Thirlby. Than breath, or pen, can give expreffure to. But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, Be fhook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector! — Patr. Ay, and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. Achil. I fee, my reputation is at stake; My fame is fhrewdly gor'd. Patr. O then beware: Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves : Seals a Commiffion to a Blank of Danger; And danger, like an ague, fubtly taints Even then, when we fit idly in the Sun. Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus: I'll fend the fool to Ajax, and defire him T'invite the Trojan lords, after the Combat, To fee us here unarm'd: I have a woman's Longing, peace; To fee great Hector in the Weeds of Ev'n Ev'n to my full of view.-A labour fav'd! Ther. A wonder! Acbil. What? Enter Therfites. Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. Achil. How fo? Ther. He must fight fingly to morrow with Hector, and is fo prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. Acbil. How can that be? Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a ftride and a stand; ruminates like an hoftefs, that hath no arithmetick but her brain, to fet down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say, there were wit in his head, if 'twou'd out; and fo there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not fhew without knocking. The man's undone for ever for if Hector break not his neck i'th' combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I faid, good morrow, Ajax: And he replies, thanks, Agamem non. What think you of this man, that takes me for the General? he's grown a very land-fifh, language-less, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both fides, like a leather Jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my ambaffador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who I? why, he'll answer no body; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall fee the Pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure fafe Conduct for his Perfon of the magnanimous and moft illuftrious, fix or seven times honour'd captain general, of the Gre cian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this. Patr. Jove blefs great Ajax ! Ther. Ther. Hum Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles. Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his Tent. Ther. Hum Patr. And to procure fafe Conduct from Agamemnon. Ther. Agamemnon! Patr. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What fay you to't? Ther. God be wi'you, with all my heart. Patr. Your anfwer, Sir. Ther. If to morrow be a fair day, by eleven o' clock it will go one way or other; howfoever, he fhall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, Sir. Ther. Fare ye 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 mufick will be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not. But, I am fure, none; unless the fidler Apollo get his finews to make Catlings on. Achil. Come, thou fhall bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me carry another to his horfe; for that's the more capable creature. Achil. My mind is troubled like a fountain ftirr'd, And I my felf fee not the bottom of it. [Exit. Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an afs at it! I had rather be a tick in a fheep, than fuch a valiant ignorance. [Exe. ACT |