Ulvs. This 'tis : Blunt wedges rive hard knots; the feeded pride, That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles, must or now be cropt, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To over-bulk us all. Neft. Well, and how now? Ulvs. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. Neft. The purpose is perfpicuous ev'n as substance, (15) Whose grosiness little characters sum up. As banks of Lybia, (tho', Apollo knows, Pointing on him. Ulyf. And wake him to the answer, think you ? That can from Hector bring his honour off, (15) The purpose is perfpicuous ev'n as substance, Whose groffness little characters sum up, And in the publication make no ftrain:] The modern editors, 'tis plain, have lent each other very little information upon this paffage: Τυφλὸς τυφλῶ ὁδηγὸς, as the proverb says; the blind have led the blind. As they have pointed the paffage, 'tis strange stuff; and how they folv'd it to themselves, is past my discovery. That little characters, or particles, sum up the grossness of any substance, I conceive: but how those characters, or particles, make no ftrain in the publication, seems a little harder than algebra. My regulation of the pointing brings us to clear sense; "The aim and purpose of this duel is as visible " as any gross substance can be, compounded of many little particles:" And having faid thus, Ulyffes goes on to another observation; "And " makes no difficulty, no doubt, when this duel comes to be pro"claim'd, but that Achilles, dull as he is, will discover the drift of " it." This is the meaning of the last line. So, afterwards, in this play, Ulyffes says, I do not train at the position, i. e. I do not hefitate at, I make no difficulty of it. 3 With their init palate and trust to me, Ulyffes, Ulyf. Give pardon to my speech; Shall shew the better. Do not then consent, Neft. I see them not with my old eyes: what are they? And we were better parch in Africk fun, And by device let blockish The fort to fight with Hector: Ajax draw 'mong ourselves, Give him allowance as the worthier man, And I will give a taste of it forthwith Must tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt. 1 T ACT II. SCENE, the Grecian Camp. Enter Ajax, and Thersites. HERSITES, AJAX. Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boiles-full, all over, generally. Ajax. I herfites, [Talking to Dimself. Ther. And those boiles did run fay so-did not the General run? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog! Ther. Then there would come some matter from him: I fee none now. Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? feel then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted Lord! , Ther. I shall soon rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horse will fooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book: thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks! Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Doest thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'ft me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsom'st scab in Greece. Ajax. I fay, the proclamation Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 'Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's beauty: ay, that thou bark'st at him. Ajax. Mistress Therfites! I her. Thou shouldst strike him. (16) Speak then, you unsalted leaven, speak;] This is a reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no authority or countenance from any of the copies; nor that approaches in any degree to the traces of the old reading, you whinid'st leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible; but the emendation, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a sense apt and confonant to what Ajax would fay." Thou lump of sow'r dough, kneaded up out of a flower unpurg'd and unfifted, with all the dross and bran in it." -Kent, in Lear, uses the same metaphorical reproach to the cowardly steward; I will tread this unboulted villain into mortar. i. e. This villain of so gross a composition, that he was not fifted thro the boulting cloth, before he was work'd up into leaven. So Pandarus fays to Troilus in the first scene of this play: : Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leavening. I cannot without injustice pass over another conjecture, propos'd by my ingenious friend Mr. Warburton; you windiest leaven. An epithet, as he fays, not only admirably adapted to the nature of leaven, which is made only by fermentation, but likewise must juftly applied to the loquacious Therfites. And, indeed, in several coun ties of England, an idle prater is call'd, a windy fellow. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pound thee into shivers with his fist, as a failor breaks a bisket. Ajax. You whoreson cur! Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! [Beating him. Ther. Ay, do, do, thou fodden-witted Lord; thou haft no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Affinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! Ajax. You dog! Ajax. You cur! [Beating him. Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you this? How now, Therfites? what's the matter, man? Achil. Ay, what's the matter? Achil. So I do, what's the matter? Achil. Well, why, I do fo. Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for who. foever 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 say of him. |