Puslapio vaizdai

SCENE 11. The Grecian Camp.

. Enter Therlites folus. How, now, Thersites? what lost in the Labyrinth of thy Fury? Shall the Elephant, Ajax, carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him: 0 worthy Satisfa&tion ! would it were otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilft he rail'd at me : 'Sfoot, l'll learn to Conjure and raise Devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful Execrations. Then there's

Achilles, a rare Engineer. If Troy be noi taken 'till these two undermine it, the Walls will stand 'till they fall of themselves. Othou great Thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the King of Gods; and Miercury, lose all the Serpentine Craft of thy Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, Je's than little, wit fiom them that they have, which Mortarm'd Ignorance it self knows, is to abundant scarce, it will not in Circumvention deliver a Fly from a Spider, without drawing the maffy. Irons and cutting the Web: After this, the Vengeance on the whole Camp, or rather the Bone-ach, for that, methinks, is the Curse deperdant on those that war for a Placket. I have said my Prayers, and Devil, Envy, sy Amen. What hos my Lord Achilles ?

Enter Patroclus. Patr. Who's there? Therfites. Good Therfites, come in and rail.

Ther. If I could have remi mbred a gilt Counter, thou would's not hive slip'd out of my Contemplation, but it is no matter, thy self upon thy felf. The common Curse of Mankind, Foly and Ignorance be thine in great Revenue; Heav'n bless thee from a Tutor, and Discipline come not near thee. Let thy Blood be thy direction 'rill thy Death, then if the that lays thee out, says thou art a fair Coarse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon’t, she never shrowded any but Latars, Amen. Where's Achilles ?

Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in a Prayer?
Ther. Ay, the Heav'ns hear me.

Enter Achilles.
Achil. Who's there?
Pair. Therfires, my Lord.


Achil. Were, where? art thou come? why, my Cheese, my Digestion why haft thou not served thy self up to my Table, so many Meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?

Ther. Thy Commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles ?

Parr. Thy Lord, Therfites : then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy self?

Ther. Thy Knower, Patroclus : then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'ft.
Achil. O tell, tell.

Ther. I'll decline the whole Question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus's Knower, and Patroclus is a Fool.

Patr. You Rascal
Ther. Peace, Fool, I have not done.
Achil. He is a priviltg’d Mar. Proceed, Therfites.

Ther. Agamemnon is a Fool, Achilles is a Fool, Therfites is a Fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a Fool.

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a Fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a Fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Thersites is a Fool to serve such a Fool, and Patroclus is a Fool positive.

Patr. Why am I a Fool? Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax,

and Chalcas. Ther. Make that demand to the Creator, it suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with no Body: Come in with me, Therlites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is such Patchery, such Jugling, and such Knavery : all the Argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulatious Fa&ions, and bleed to Death upon : Now the dry Serpigo on the Subje&, and War and Lechery confound all.

Aga. Where is Achilles ?
Pair. Within his Tent, but ill dispos’d, my Lord.

Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here.
He lent our Messengers, and we lay by
Our Appertainments, visiting of him?



Let him be told of, lest perchance he think
VVe dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Patr. I Mall fo say to him.

Ulys. VVe saw him at the opening of his Tent, He is not fick.

Ajax. Yes, Lion-sick, fick of a proud heart: you may call it Melancholy, if you will favour the Man, but by my head, 'tis Pride; but why, why? - let him thew us the cause. A word, my Lord. .

[To Agamemnon.
Neft. VVhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
Ulyf. Achilles hath inveigled his Fool from him.
Neft. Who, 'Therfires?
Ulys. He.

Neft. They will Ajax lack Matter, if he have lost his Argument.

Ulys. No, you see he is his Argument, that has his Argument, Achilles.

Neft. All the better, their Fra&ion is more our wish than their Faction; but it was a strong Counsel that a Fool could disunite.

Ulys. The Amity that Wisdom knits not, Folly may eafily untye.

Enter Patroclus. Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him?
Vlys. The Elephant hath Joints, but none for Courcelie;
His Legs are Legs for necesity, not for flight.

Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much forry,
If any thing more than your Sport and Pleasure,
Did move your Greatness, and this noble State,
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-sake;
An after-Dinner's Breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;
We are too well acquainted with these Answers;
But his evasion wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outflie our Apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason,
Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his Virtues,
(Not virtuously of his own part beheld)
Do in our Eyes begin to lose their Glofs;


X 3

And like fair Fruit in an unwholsom Dish,
Are like to rot untasted; go and tell him,
We come to speak with him, and you fall not sin;
If you do say, we think him over-proud,
And under-honeft; in Self-assumption greater
Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself,
Here tend the favage Strangeness he puts or,
Disguise the holy. Strength of their command,
And under write in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lines, his ebbs, his flows; as if
The passage and whole carriage of th's Adion
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price so much,
We'll none of him; but ler him, like an Engine
Not portable, lye under this report. .
Bring Action hither, this cannot go to War:
A stirring Dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a sleeping Gyant; tell him lo.

Pat. I shall, and bring his answer presently. [Exile

Aga. In second Voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to spcak with him. Olylles, enter you.

[Exit Ulylles

. Ajax. What is he more than ano:her Aga. No more than what he thinks he is,

Ajax. Is he so much? do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than I am?

Aga. No question.
Ajax. Will you subscribe his Thought, and say, he is a

Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more vractable.

Ajax. Why should a Man be proud ? How dcth Pride grow? I know not what it is. Aga. Your Mind is clearer, Ajax, and your Virtues the

. fairer; he that is proud, cats up himself. Pride is his own Glass, his own Trumpet, his own Chronicle, and whate. ver Praises it felf but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praise,


Enter Ulysses.
Ajax. I do hate a proud Man, as I hate the engendring of

Neft. Yet he loves himself: Is't not strange?
Dhr. Achilles will not to the Field to Morrow.
Aga. What's his Excuse?

Ulys. He doth rely on none;
But carries on the Stream of his Dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In Will peculiar, and in Self-admission,

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his Person, and share the Air with us?

Ulys. Things small as Nothing, for Requests fake only
He makes Important: Poffest he is with Greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a Pride
That quarrels at Self-breath. Imagin'd Wrath
Holds in his Blood such swol'n and hot Discourse,
That 'twixt his mental and his active Parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters 'gainst it self; what should I say?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.
Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his Tent;
'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led
At your request, a little from himself.

Vlys. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so,
We'll consecrate the Steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles; shall the proud Lord,
That bastes his Arrogance with his own Seam,
And never suffers matter of the World
Enter his Thoughts, save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself? Shall he be worship’d,
Of that we hold an Idol, more than he ?
No, this Thrice Worthy, and Right Valiant Lord,
Must not so ftale his Palm, nobly acquirid,
Nor by my Will assubjugate his Merit,
As amply Titld, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles.
That were to enlard his Fat, already, Pride,
And add more Coles to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
X 4


[ocr errors]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »