And that old common Arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.

Ulyf. So to him we leave it.

Moft gentle, and moft valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I beseech you next

To feaft with me, and fee me at my Tent.

Achil. I fhall forestal thee, lord Ulysses ;-thou!
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Helt. Is this Achilles?

Achil. I am Achilles.

Het. Stand fair, I pr'ythee, let me look on thee.
Achil. Behold thy fill.

Heft. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief. I will the fecond time, As I would buy thee, view thee, limb by limb

Het. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er : But there's more in me, than thou understand'st. Why doft thou fo oppress me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body Shall I deftroy him? whether there, or there, That I may give the local wound a name; And make diftinct the very breach, where-out Hector's great fpirit flew. Anfwer me, heav'ns! . Helt. It would difcredit the bleft Gods, proud man, To answer fuch a question: stand again.Think'ft thou to catch my life fo pleasantly, As to prenominate, in nice conjecture, Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Helt. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me fo,
I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But by the forge that smithied Mars his helm, (40)

(40) But by the Forge that ftythied Mars his belm.]

So, again, in Hamlet ;

And my Imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's Stithy.

וויז

A

I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.
You wifeft Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His infolence draws folly from my lips;

But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never-

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, coufin;

And you, Achilles, let thefe threats alone,
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.

You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If have ftomach. The general State, I fear, (41)
Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.

you

Hect. I pray you, let us fee you in the field: We have had pelting wars fince you refus'd The Grecians' caufe.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector? To morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; To night, all friends.

Helt. Thy hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece go to my Tent,
There in the full convive you; afterwards,

As Hector's leifure and your bounties shall
Concur, together, feverally intreat him

A Stitby, or Stith, fignifies an Anvil. So CHAUCER in his Knight's Tale. -and the Smith

That forgith fharpé Swerdis on the Stith.

And the Word is ftill current in our Northern Counties. But, I own, I fufpect this not to have been our Author's Word either in Hamlet or here. For, in the first Place, an Anvil is far from being the dirtieft thing in a Smith's Shop: and then the Forge, or Furnace, cannot be faid to anvil the Helmet. I have corrected;

But by the Forge that smithied Mars's helm.

A Smithy is the working Shop of a Smith; and to fmithy, is, to perform the Work and Office of a Smith.

(41) The general State, I fear,

Can fcarce intreat you to be odd with him.] This is obfcurely exprefs'd, but the Meaning must be this. Notwithstanding this Bluftering which you have made, I fear, the whole Grecian Confederacy with their united Prayers could fcarce prevail with you to make Hector your Adversary in good Earneft, to oppofe your felf to him. This will be farther explain'd by a Paffage in King Henry V.

Say, if my Father render fair Reply,
It is against my Will; for I defire
Nothing but Odds with England.

Το

To tafte your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know.

Manent Troilus and Ulyffes..

Troi. My lord Ulyffes, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

[Exeunt.

Ulyf. At Menelaus' Tent, moft princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feast with him to night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view
On the fair Creffid.

Troi. Shall I, fweet lord, be bound to thee so much,
After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,
To bring me thither?

Uly. You fhall command me, Sir:

As, gently tell me, of what honour was
This Creffida in Troy; had fhe no lover there,
That wails her absence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boasting shew their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth.

But, ftill, fweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.

I

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

ACHILLES.

'LL heat his blood with Greekish wine to
night,

Which with my fcimitar I'll cool to morrow.
Patroclus, let us feaft him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites.

Achil. How now, thou core of envy? (42)
Thou crufty botch of Nature, what's the news?
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou feem'ft, and
idol of idiot-worfhippers, here's a letter for thee.
Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full difh of fool, from Troy.
Patr. Who keeps the Tent now?

Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound.

Patr. Well faid, adverfity.; and what need these tricks?

Thou crufty batch of Nature,] Thus all the printed Copies: but what is a crufty batch of Nature? We muft certainly read, Botch; i. e. Scab, Sore, &c. So, before, in the Beginning of the 2d Act.

And thofe Boils did run- -Say fo;

not that a botchy Core ?

2

Did not the General run, were

Ther.

Ther. Pr'ythee, be filent, boy, I profit not by thy talk; thou art thought to be Achilles's male-harlot. (43)

Patr. Male-harlot, you rogue? what's that?

Ther. Why, his mafculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'th back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of impoftume, fciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurable boneach, and the rivell'd fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous discoveries.

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curfe thus?

Ther. Do I curfe thee?

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorfon indiftinguishable cur.

Ther. No? why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial skein of fley'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou taffel of a prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pefter'd with fuch water-flies, diminutives of nature.

Patr. Out, gall!

Ther. Finch-egg!

Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to morrow's battel:
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,

A token from her daughter, my fair Love,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep

An oath that I have fworn. I will not break it;
Fall Greek, fail fame, honour, or go, or stay,
My major vow lyes here; this I'll obey.
Come, come, Therfites, help to trim my Tent,
This night in banqueting muft all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

[Ex.

Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, these two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's

(43) Thou art thought to be Achilles's male Varlet.] Dr. Thirlby very reasonably conjectures, barlot; and this feems confirm'd by what Therfites immediately fubjoins; Why, his masculine Whore.