Ther. Nay look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, Fool.

Ther. Ay, but that Fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters, his Evasions have Ears thus long. I have bobb'd his Brain more than he has beat my Bones: I will buy nine Sparrows for a Penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth Part of a Sparrow. This Lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his Wit in his Belly, and his Guts in his Head, I'll tell you what I fay of him.

Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to firike him, Achilles interposes.

Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much Wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will ftop the Eye of Helen's Needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, Fool.

Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the Fool will not: he there, that he, look you

Ajax. O thou damn'd Cur, I fhall

there.

Achil. Will you fet your Wit to a Fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you, for a Fool's will fhame it.
Pat. Good Words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the Quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile Owl, go learn me the tenure of the Proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft Service was fufferance, 'twas not volunta

ry, no Man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an Imprefs.

Ther

Ther. Ev'n fo--a great deal of your Wit too lies in your Sinews, or else there be Liars: Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your Brains, he were as good crack a fufty Nut with no Kernel.

Achil, What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, whofe Wit was mouldy e'er their Grandfires had Nails on their Toes, yoke you like draft Oxen, and make you plough up the wair. Achil. What! what!

Ther. Yes, good footh, to Achilles, to Ajax, to-
Ajax. I fhall cut out your Tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I fhall speak as much as thou afterwards.

Pat. No more Words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles Brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like Clotpoles, e'er I come any more to your Tents, I will keep where there is Wit ftirring, and leave the Faction of Fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft,

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,
Will with a Trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To Morrow morning call fome Knight to Arms,
That hath a Stomach, and such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'Tis Trafh, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who fhall answer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to Lott❜ry; otherwise
He knew his Man.

Ajax. O, meaning you, I will go learn more of it. [Exit.
SCENE II. Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus,
Pri. After fo many Hours, Lives, Speeches spent,
Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks,
Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As Honour, lofs of Time, Travel, Expence,

Wounds, Friends, and what else dear, that is confum'd

In

In hot digeftion of this Cormorant War)
Shall be truck off. Hector, what fay you

to't?

Hect. Though no Man leffer fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular; yet, dread Priam,
There is no Lady of more fofter Bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out, Who knows what follows,
Than Hector is; the wound of Peace is furety,
Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd

The Beacon of the wife; the Tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worft. Let Helen go.
Since the firft Sword was drawn about this Question,
Every Tithe Soul 'mongst many thousand dismes,
Hath been as dear as Helen, I mean of ours:
If we have loft fo many Tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us
(Had it our Name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reafon, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi. Fie, fie, my Brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great is our dread Father) in a Scale

Of common Ounces? Will you with Counters fum
The vast proportion of his Infinite?

And buckle in a waste, most fathomless,

With Spans and Inches fo diminutive,

As Fears and Reasons? Fie for godly fhame.

Hel. No marvel, tho' you bite fo fharp at Reasons, You are empty of them. Should not our Father Bear the great fway of his Affairs with Reasons, Because your Speech hath none that tells him fo?

Troi. You are for Dreams and Slumbers, Brother Priest, You fur your Gloves with Reafons: Here are your Reasons, You know an Enemy intends you harm: You know, a Sword imploy'd is perillous, And Reafon flies the object of all harm: Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his Sword, if he do fet The very wings of Reason to his Heels:

Or like a Star diforb'd. Nay, if we talk of Realon,

AJ

And flie like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Let's fhut our Gates and fleep: Manhood and Honour
Should have hard Hearts, would they but fat their Thoughts
With this cramm'd Reafon: Reafon and Respect
Make Lovers pale. and luftyhood deject.

Hect. Brother, fhe is not worth
What the doth coft the holding.

Troi What's ought, but as 'tis valu'd?
Hect. But Value dwells not in particular Will,

It holds his Eftimate and Dignity,

As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,
As in the prizer: 'Tis made Idolatry,
To make the Service greater than the God;
And the will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously it felf affects,
Without fome Image of th' affected Merit.

Troi. I take to day a Wife, and my Election
Is led on in the conduct of my Will;
My Will enkindled in mine Eyes and Ears,
Two trading Pilots 'twixt the dangerous Shores
Of Will and Judgment. How may I avoid
(Although my Will diftaft what is elected)
The Wife I chose? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by Honour.
We turn not back the Silks upon the Merchant,
When we have spoil'd them; nor the remainder Viands
We do not throw in unrefpective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris fhould do fome Vengeance on the Greeks:
Your Breath of full confent bellied his Sails,
The Seas and Winds (old Wranglers) took a Truce,
And did him Service; he touch'd the Ports defir'd,
And for an old Aunt, whom the Greeks held Captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the Morning..
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our Aunt:
Is the worth keeping? why, fhe is a Pearl,
Whose Price hath launch'd above a thoufand Ships,
And turn'd Crown'd Kings to Merchants.
If you'll avouch 'twas Wifdom, Paris went,

(As

(As you muft needs, for you all cry'd, Go, go:)
If you'll confefs, he brought home noble Prize,
(As
you muft needs, for you all clap'd your Hands,
And cry'd, Ineftimable;) why do you now
The iffue of your proper Wifdoms rate,
And do a deed that Fortune never did,
Begger the Eftimation, which you priz'd
Richer than Sea and Land? O Theft most base!
That we have ftoln what we do fear to keep.
But Thieves, unworthy of a thing so stoln,
That in their Country did them that Disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native Place.

Enter Caffandra with her Hair about her Ears.

Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry.

Pri. What noife? what fhriek is this?

Troi. 'Tis our mad Sifter, I do know her Voice.
Caf. Cry, Trojans.

Het. It is Caffandra.

Caf Cry, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand Eyes, 'And I will fill them with prophetick Tears.

Hect. Peace, Sifter, Peace.

Caf. Virgins and Boys, mid-Age and wrinkled Old,

Soft Infancy, that nothing can but cry,

Add to my Clamour: Let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of Moan to come,

Cry, Trojans, cry, practise your Eyes with Tears,
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand,
Our Fire-brand Brother Paris burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry, a Helen and a Wo;
Cry, cry, Troy burns, or elfe let Helen go.

[Exit.

Het. Now, youthful Troilus, do not the high Strains

Of Divination in our Sifter work

Some touches of Remorfe? Or is your Blood

So madly hot, that no difcourfe of Reason,
Nor fear of bad Succefs in a bad Cause,

Can qualifie the fame ?

Troi. Why, Brother Hector,

We may not think the juftness of each act
Such and no other than Event doth form it;
Nor once deject the Courage of our Minds,

Becaufe