However it is spread in general name,

Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up:
And, in the publication, make no strain,*
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya,-though, Apollo knows,

"Tis dry enough,-will, with what great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose

Pointing on him.

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nest. Yes.

It is most meet; Whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring those honours off,
If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;

For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly poised

In this wild action: for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling+
Of good or bad unto the general;

And in such indexes, although small pricks‡
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass

Of things to come at large. It is supposed,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice:
And choice, being mutual, act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues; Who miscarrying,

What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ;

Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better shall exceed,
By showing the worse first. Do not consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;

For both our honour and our shame, in this,

Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what are they?

Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him:

But he already is too insolent;

And we were better parch in Afric sun,

Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,

Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion* crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw

The sortt to fight with Hector: Among ourselves,
Give him allowance for the better man,
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still

That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes-
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest. Ulysses,

Now I begin to relish thy advice;

And I will give a taste of it forthwith

To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.

Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone

Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Another part of the Grecian Camp.

Enter AJAX and THERSITES.

Ajax. Thersites,

Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils ? full, all over, generally ?

Ajax. Thersites,

Ther. And those boils did run ?-Say so,-did not the general run then? were not that a botchy core?

Ajax. Dog,

Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I see none

now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikes him.

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beefwitted lord!

Ajax. Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness.

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner 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. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? Ajax. The proclamation,

Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.

* Estimation.

+ Lot.

+ Excite.

Ajax. Do not, porpentine,* 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 loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

Ajax. I say, 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 Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him.

Ajax. Cobloaf!†

Ther. He would pun‡ thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

Ajax. You whoreson cur!

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch!§

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego || may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass; thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold 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!

Ther. You scurvy lord!

Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him. Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you thus ? How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You see him there, do you?

Achil. Ay, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do; What's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well! why I do so.

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 bobbed 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.

Achil. What?

* Porcupine.

There used to be a mode of punishing witches, by tying them crosslegged on a high stool.

Ass.

VOL. 111.

Continue.

2 F

Ther. I say, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

[AJAX offers to strike him, ACHILLES interposes.

Ther. Has not so much wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there; that he; look you there.

Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.

Patr. Good words, Thersites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I serve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary ;* Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

Ther. Even so ?-A great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or elset here be liars. Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; a' were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ?

Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor,-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes,-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.

Achil. What, what?

Ther. Yes, good sooth; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards. Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' bracht bids me, shall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any

more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Patr. A good riddance.

[Exit.

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

That Hector, by the first hour of the sun,

Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms,
That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare
Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trash: Farewell.
Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?

Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise,
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you:-I'll go learn more of it.

* Voluntarily.

[Exeunt.

† A small scenting hound.

SCENE II-Troy. A Room in PRIAM's Palace.

Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS. Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage else―

As honour, loss of time, travel, expense,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed
In hot digestion of this cormorant war,-

Shall be struck off:-Hector, what say you to't?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as toucheth my particular, yet,

Dread Priam,

There is no lady of more softer bowels,

More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,

More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows?
Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:

Since the first 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 lost so many tenths of ours,

To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten;

What merit 's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother!

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,

So great as our dread father, in a scale

Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite?

And buckle-in a waist most fathomless,

With spans and inches so diminutive

As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father

Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,

Because your speech hath none, that tells him so?

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest, You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: You know, an enemy intends you harm;

You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a star disorb'd ?-Nay, if we talk of reason,

Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour

Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts

* Tenths.