Obrázky stránek

Muft fall out with Men too: What the declin'd is,
He fhall as foon read in the Eyes of others,
As feel in his own Fall: For Men, like Butter-Alies,
Shew not their mealy Wings, but to the Summer;
And not a Man, for being fimple Man,

Hith any Honour, but honour'd by thofe Honours
That are without him; as Place, Riches, Favour,
Prizes of Accident, as oft as Merit:

Which when they fall (as being flippery ftanders)
The Love that lean'd on them as flippery too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Dye in the Fall: But 'tis not fo with me,
Fortune and I are Friends, I do enjoy

At ample point all that I did poffefs,

Save thefe Mens Looks, who do methinks find out
Something in me not worth that rich Beholding,i.
As they have often given. Here is Vlyffes,

I'll interrupt his Reading.

How now Vlyffes?

Ulys. Now, great Thetis Son!
Achil. What are you reading?
Vlyf. A ftrange Fellow here

Writes me, that Man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath ;
Nor feels not what he owes, but by Reflection,
As when his Virtues fhining upon others,
Heat them, and they retort that Heat again.
To the firft Giver.

Achil. This is not ftrange, Vlyffes,

The Beauty that is born here in the Face,
The Bearer knows not, but commends it felf,
Not going from it felf, but Eye to Eye oppos'd,
Salute each other, with each others Form..

For Speculation turns not to it felf,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may fee it felf; this is not ftrange at all.
Vlyf. I do not ftrain at the Pofition,

It is familiar; but at the Author's drift;
Who in his Circumftance, exprefly proves
That no Man is the Lord of any thing,
(Tho' in and of him) there is much confifting,

Y 3


'Till he communicate his Parts to others:

Nor doth he of himself know them for ought,
'Till he behold them formed in th' Applause,
Where they're extended: Which like an Arch reverb'rates
The Voice again, or like a Gate of Steel,
Fronting the Sun, receives and renders back

His Figure, and his Heat. I was much rapt in this,
And apprehended here immediately

The unknown Ajax.

Heav'ns! What a Man is there? A very Horse,
That as he knows not Nature, what things are
Moft abject in Regard, and dear in Ufe;
What things again moft dear in the Efteem,
And poor in Worth: Now fhall we fee to Morrow,
And a&t that very Chance doth throw upon him:
Ajax renown'd! O Heav'ns, what fome Men do,
While fome Men leave to do!

How fome Men creep in skittish Fortune's Hall,
Whiles others play the Idiots in her Eyes:
How one Man eats into another's Pride,
While Pride is fasting in his Wantonness!
To fee thefe Grecian Lords; why, even already,
They clap the Lubber Ajax on the Shoulder,
As if his Foot were on brave Hector's Breaft,
And great Troy fhrinking.

Achil. I do believe it,

For they paft by me, as Mifers do by Beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What, are my Deeds forgot?

Uly. Time hath, my Lord, a Wallet at his Back,
Wherein he puts Alms for Oblivion:

A great-fiz'd Monster of Ingratitudes:
Thofe fcraps are good Deeds paft,

Which are devour'd as faft as they are made,
Forgot as foon as done: Perfeverance, dear my Lord,
Keeps Honour bright: To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rufty Male

In monumental Mock'ry: Take the inftant way,
For Honour travels in a Streight so narrow,
Where one but goes abreaft, keep then the Path,"
For Emulation hath a thousand Sons,


That one by one purfue; if you give Way
Or hedge alide from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred Tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmoft;

Or like a gallant Horse fall'n in first Rank,
Lye there for pavement to the abject, near

O'er-run and trampl'd on: Then what they do in present
Tho' lefs than yours in paft, muft o'er-top yours:
For Time is like a fashionable Hoft,

That flightly shakes his parting Gueft by th' Hand;
And with Arms out-ftretch'd, as he would fly,
Crafps in the Comer; the Welcome ever fmiles,
And Farewel goes out fighing: O let not Virtue feek
Remuneration for the thing it was; for Beauty, Wit,
High Birth, Vigour of Bone, Defert in Service,
Love, Friendship, Charity, are Subjects all
To envious and calumniating Time:

One touch of Nature makes the whole World Kin;
That all with one confent praise new-born Gauds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things paft,
go to Duft, that is, a little Gilt;
More Laud in Gilt o'er-dufted,

The prefent Eye, praises the prefent Object.
Then marvel not, thou great and compleat Man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion 'gin to catch the Eye,
Than what not ftirs; the Cry went out on thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'ft not entomb thy felf alive,
And cafe thy Reputation in thy Tent;

Whofe glorions Deeds, but in these Fields of late,
Made emulous miffions 'mongst the Gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to Faction.

Achil. Of this my Privacy,

I have ftrong Reasons.

Vlyf. But 'gainst your Privacy,

The Reafons are more potent and heroical: 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in Love With one of Priam's Daughters.

Achil. Ha! known!

[blocks in formation]

Vlyf. Is that a wonder?

The Providence that's in a watchful State,
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehenfive deep,
Keeps place with thought; and, almost like the Gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb Cradles :
There is a Myftery (with whom relation
Durft never meddle) in the Soul of State;
Which hath an Operation more divine,
Than Breath of Pen can give expreffure to:
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my Lord.
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When Fame fhall in his Ifland found her Trump;
And all the Greekish Girls fhall tripping fing,
Great Hector's Sifter did Achilles win;

But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewel, my Lord-I, as your Lover, fpeak;
The Fool flides o'er the Ice that you should break.
Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you;
A Woman, impudent, and mannifh grown,
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate Man,
In time of Action: Iftand condemn'd for this;
They think my little ftomach to the War,
And your great love to me, reftrains you thus:
Sweet, roufe your felf; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your Neck unloofe his amorous fold,
And like a dew-drop from the Lion's mane,

Be fhook to airy Air.

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector !---

Pair. Ay, and perhaps receive much Honour by him, Achil. I fee my Reputation is at Stake,

My Fame is fhrewdly gor'd.

Patr. O then beware:

Thofe wounds heal ill that Men do give themfelvcs:
Omiffion to do what is neceffary,

Seals a Commiffion to a blank of Danger,
And Danger, like an Ague, fubtly taints
Even then when we fit idly in the Sun.

Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus,
I'll fend the Fool to Ajax, and defire him
T'invite the Trojan Lords, after the Combat,

To fee us here unarm'd: I have a Woman's longing,
An Appetite that I am fick withal,

To fee great Hector in the weeds of Peace,

Enter Therfites.

To talk with him, and to behold his Vifage,
Even to my full of view. A labour fav'd-
Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the Field, asking for him


Achil. How fo?

Ther. He muft fight fingly to Morrow with Hector, and is fo prophetically proud of an heroical Cudgelling, that he raves, in faying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

Ther. Why, he ftalks up and down like a Peacock, a ftride and a ftand; ruminates like an Hoftefs that hath no Arithmetick, but her Brain to fet down her Reckoning; bites his Lip with a politick regard, as who fhould fay, there were Wit in his Head, and 'twou'd out; and fo there is, but it lies as coldly in him as Fire in a Flint, which will not fhew without knocking. The Man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his Neck i'th' Combat, he'll break't him-> felf in Vain-glory. He knows not me: I faid, Good morrow, Ajax. And he replies, Thanks Agamemnon, What think you of this Man, that takes me for the General? He's grown a very Land-fish-languagelefs----a Monster; a plague of Opinion, a Man may wear it on both fides, like a Leather Jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my Ambaffador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who? I?----why he'll atfwer no Body; he profeffes not answering; speaking is for Beggars; he wears his Tongue in's Arms; I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall fee the Pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus---tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the moft valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my Tent, and to procure fafe Conduct for his Perfon, of the Magnanimous and moft Illustrious, fix or fe


« PředchozíPokračovat »