That one by one purfue: If you give way, Or, like a gallant horfe fallen in first rank, O'er-run and trampled on: Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: For time is like a fashionable host, That flightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And farewell goes out fighing. O, let not virtue seek For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, defert in fervice, One touch of nature makes the whole word kin,— More laud than gilt o'er-dufted. The present eye praises the present object : Since things in motion fooner catch the eye, If thou would't not entomb thyfelf alive, Whofe glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Achil. I have strong reasons. Uly Of this my privacy But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical : Achil. Uly. Is that a wonder? Ha! known? The providence that's in a watchful state, But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, But our great Ajax bravely beat down him. Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak; The fool flides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit. Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I ftand condemn'd for this; Sweet, roufe yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 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; Thofe wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves: Seals a commiffion to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, fubtly taints Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus: To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, To fee us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing, To fee great Hector in his weeds of peace ; Ther. A wonder! Achil. What? Enter THER SITES. Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himfelf. 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 faying nothing. Achil. How can that be? Ther. Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride, and a stand: ruminates, like an hostess, 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 this head, an 'twould out; and fo 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 it 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? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both fides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my embassador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who, I? why, he'll anfwer nobody; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you fhall 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 most illustrious, fix-or-feven-times-honour'd captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. Patr. Jove blefs great Ajax. Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,- Patr. Who moft humbly defires you, to invite Hector to his tent; Ther. Humph! 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 answer, fir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, fir. 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 mufick will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not: But, I am fure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his finews to make catlings on. Achil. Come, thou fhalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horfe; for that's the more capable creature. Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain ftirr'd; And I myself fee not the bottom of it. [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. 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 such a valiant ignorance. [Exit. ACT |