As Agamemnon and the Hand of Greece
Should hold up high in Brafs, and fuch again,
As venerable Neftor (hatch'd in Silver)

Should with a bond of Air, ftrong as the Axle-tree
On which the Heav'n's ride, knit all Greeks Ears
To his experienc'd Tongue: Yet let it please both
(Thou Great and Wife) to hear Ulyffes fpeak.

Aga Speak Prince of Ithaca: and be't of less expect,
That matter needlefs, of importless Burthen
Divide thy Lips, then we are confident,
When rank Therfites opes his maftiff Jaws,
We fhall hear Mufick, Wit, and Oracle.

Uly. Troy, yet upon his Bafis, had been down,
And the great Hector's Sword had lack'd a Master,
But for thefe inftances.

The fpeciality of Rule hath been neglected;
And look how many Grecian Tents do ftand
Hollow upon this Plain, so many hollow Factions.
When that the General is not like the hive,
To whom the Foragers fhall all repair,
What Hony is expected? Degree being vizarded,
Th'unworthieft fhews as fairly in the Mask.

The Heav'ns themselves, the Planets, and this Center,
Obferve degree, priority and place,

Infifture, courfe, proportion, feafon, form,
Office and cuftom, in all line of Order:
And therefore is the glorious Planet Sol,
In noble Eminence, enthron'd and fphear'd
Amidft the other, whofe med'cinable Eye
Corrects the ill Afpects of Planets evil,
And pofts like the Command'ment of a King,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the Planets
In evil mixture to diforder wander,

What Plagues, and what Portents, what Mutiny?
What raging of the Sea? fhaking of Earth?

Commotion in the Winds? Frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate

The unity, and married calm of States

Quite from their fixture? O, when Degree is fhaken, (Which is the Ladder to all high Defigns)

The

The Enterprize is fick. How could Communities,
Degrees in Schools, and Brotherhoods in Cities,
Peaceful Commerce from dividable Shores,
The Primogenitive, and due of Birth,
Prerogative of Age, Crowns. Scepters, Lawrels,
(But by Degree) ftand in Authentick Place?
Take but degree away, untune that String,
And hark what Difcord follows; each thing meets
In meer oppugnancy. The bounded Waters
Would lift their Bofoms higher than the Shores,
And make a fop of all this folid Globe :
Strength would be Lord of Imbecility,

And the rude Son would ftrike his Father dead:
Force would be Right; or rather, Right and Wrong
(Between whose endless jar Juftice refides)
Would lose their Names, and fo would Juftice too.
Then every thing includes it felf in Power,
Power into Will, Will into Appetite,
And Appetite (an univerfal Wolf,

So doubly feconded with Will and Power)
Muft make perforce an univerfal prey,
And laft, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This Chaos, when Degre eis fuffocate,
Follows the choaking:

And this neglection of Degree is it,

That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose
lt hath to climb. The General's disdain'd
By him one step below; he by the next;
That next by him beneath: So every step,
Exampled by the firft pace, that is fick
Of his Superior, grows to an envious Feaver
Of pale and bloodless Emulation.

And 'tis this Feaver that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own Sinews. To end a Tale of length.
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her ftrength,
Neft. Moft wifely hath Ulyffes here discover'd
The Feaver, whereof all our Power is fick.
Aga. The Nature of the sickness found, Ulyffes,
What is the Remedy?

Ulyf. The great Achilles, whom Opinion crowns
VOL. V.

K

The

The Sinew, and the Fore-hand of our Hoft,
Having his Ear full of his airy Fame,

Grows dainty of his Worth, and in his Tent
Lies mocking our Defigns. With him Patroclus,
Upon a lazy Bed, the live-long day

Breaks fcurril Jefts;

And with ridiculous and aukward Action,
(Which, Slanderer, he Imitation calls)

He Pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
Thy toplefs Deputation he puts on;

And like a ftrutting Player, whofe Conceit
Lies in his Ham-ftring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden Dialogue and Sound
'Twixt his ftretch'd footing, and the Scaffoldage,
(Such to-be-pitied, and o'er-refted feeming
He acts thy Greatness in) and when he speaks,
'Tis like a Chime a mending; with terms unfquai'd ;'
Which from the Tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would feem Hyperboles. At this fufty stuff
The large Achilles, on his preft-bed lolling,
From his deep Cheft, laughs out a loud Applause:
Cries- excellent! 'tis Agamemnon juft.
Now play me Neftorhum, and stroke thy Beard
As he, being drest to some Oration.

That's done; as near as the extremeft Ends
Of Parallels; as like as Vulcan and his Wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent!

'Tis Neftor right! Now play him, me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a Night-alarm

And then, forfooth, the faint defects of Age
Must be the Scene of Mirth, to cough and fpit,
And with a Palfie fumbling on his Gorget,
Shake in and out the Rivet and at this fport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, O! enough Patroclus
Or, give me Ribs of Steel, I fhall split all
In pleasure of my Spleen. And in this fashion
All our Abilities, Gifts, Natures, Shapes,
Severals and generals of Grace exact,
Archievements, Plots, Orders, Preventions,
Excitements to the Field, or speech for Truce,

Succe

Succefs or Lofs, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two, to make Paradoxes,
Neft. And in the Imitation of these twain,'
Who, as Ulyffes fays, Opinion crowns
With an Imperial Voice, many are infect:
Ajax is grown felf-will'd, and bears his Head,
In fuch a Rein, is full as proud a place,
As broad Achilles, and keeps his Tent like him;
Makes factious Feafts, rails on our state of War,
Bold as an Oracle, and fets Therfites,

A Slave (whofe Gall-coins Slanders like a Mint)
To match us in Comparisons with Dirt,
To weaken and difcredit our Exposure,
How rank foever rounded in with danger.

Ulyf. They tax our Policy, and call it Cowardise,
Count Wisdom as no Member of the War,
Fore-ftall our Prescience, and efteem no Act,
But that of Hand: The ftill and mental Parts,
That do contrive how many Hands fhall ftrike
When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
Of their obfervant Toil, the Enemies weight,
Why this hath not a Finger's dignity;
They call this Bed-work, Mapp'ry, Clofet-War:
So that the Ram, that batters down the Wall,
For the great fwing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his Hand that made the Engine,
Or those that with the fineness of their Souls,
By Reason guide his Execution.

Neft. Let this be granted, and Achilles Horfe
Makes many Thetis' Sons.

Aga. What Trumpet? Look Menelaus.

Men. From Troy.

Enter Æneas.

Aga. What would you 'fore our Tent?

[Tucket founds.

Ene. Is this great Agamemnon's Tent, I pray you?
Aga. Even this.

Ene. May one that is a Herald and a Prince,

Do a fair Meffage to his Kingly Ears?

Aga. With furety ftronger than Achilles Arm,

Fore all the Greekish Heads, which with one Voice

K 2

Call

Call Agamemnon Head and General.

Ene. Fair leave, and large fecurity. How may
A Stranger to those most Imperial Looks,

Know them from Eyes of other Mortals?
Aga. How?

Ene. Ay: I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And on the Cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as Morning, when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:

-Which is that God in Office, guiding Men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

Aga. This Trojan fcorns us, or the Men of Troy Are Ceremonious Courtiers.

Ene. Courtiers as free, as deboniar, unarm'd, As bending Angels; that's their Fame, in peace: But when they would feem Soldiers, they have Galls, Good Arms, ftrong Joints, true Swords, and Jove's accord, Nothing fo full of Heart. But peace, Æneas,

Peace Trojan, lay thy Finger on thy Lips,

The worthinefs of Praise diftains his worth,

If that he prais'd himself, bring the Praise forth:

What the repining Enemy commends,

That breath Fame blows, that Praise fole pure tranfcends. Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you your self, Æneas?

Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my Name.

Aga. What's your Affair, I pray you?

Ene. Sir, pardon, 'tis for Agamemnon's Ears.
Aga. He hears nought privately

That comes from Troy.

Ene. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him,

I bring a Trumpet to awake his Ear,

To fet his Senfe on the attentive bent,

And then to speak.

Aga. Speak frankly as the Wind,

It is not Agamemnon's fleeping hour;

That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee fo himself.

Ene. Trumpet blow loud:

Send thy brafs Voice thro' all these lazy Tents,

And every Greek of Mettle, let him know

What