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Makes Merit her Election, and doth boil
As 'twere from forth us all; a Man diftill'd
Out of our Virtues; who mifcarrying,

What Heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part
To steel a ftrong Opinion to themselves,
Which entertain'd, Limbs are his Inftruments,
In no less working, than are Swords and Bows
Directive by the Limbs.

Vlyf. Give pardon to my Speech:

Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector:
Let us, like Merchants, fhew our fowleft Wares,
And think perchance they'll fell; if not,
The luftre of the better, yet to fhew,
Shall fhew the better. Do not confent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:

For both our Honour, and our Shame in this,

Are dogg'd with two ftrange Followers.

Neft. I fee them not with my old Eyes: What are they?
Ulys. What glory our Achilles fhares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all fhould wear with him:
But he already is too infolent;

And we were better parch in Africk Sun
Than in the pride and falt fcorn of his Eyes,
Should he fcape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why then we did our main Opinion crush
In taint of our beft Man. No, make a Lott'ry,
And by device let blockish Ajax draw
The fort to fight with Hector: Among our felves,
Give him allowance as the worthyer Man,
For that will Phyfick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in lowd applaufe, and make him fall
His Creft, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come fafe off,
We'll drefs him up in Voices; if he fail,
Yet go we under our Opinion still,

That we have better Men. But hit or miss,
Our projects life this hape of fenfe affumes,
Ajax imploy'd, plucks down Achilles Plumes,

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Neft. Now Ulyffes, I begin to relish thy advice,

And I will give a tafte of it forthwith

To Agamemnon, go we to him freight;

Two

Two Curs fhall tame each other; Pride alone
Muft tar the Maftiffs on, as 'twere their Bone.

[Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE I.
SCENE the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Therfites.

Herfites.

Ajax. The Ther.

Ther. Agamemnon

full, all over generally.

Ajax. Therfites.

how if he had Biles---[Talking to himself.

Ther. And thofe Biles did run---- fay fo---- did not the General run, were not that a Botchy core?

Ajax. Dog.

Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him: I fee none now.

Ajax. Thou Bitch-Wolf's Son, canft thou not hear? Feel then.

[Strikes him. Ther. The Plague of Greece upon thee, thou Mungrel beef-witted Lord.

Ajax. Speak then, you whinid'ft leaven, fpeak, I will beat thee into handfomnefs.

Ther. I fhall fooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy Horse will fooner con an Oration, than thou learn a Prayer without Book: Thou canft ftrike, canft thou? A red Murrain o'thy Jades tricks.

Ajax. Toads-ftoo', learn me the Proclamation.

Ther. Doeft thou think I have no fenfe, thou ftrik'ft me Ajax. The Proclamation.

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

[thus?

Ajax. Do not Porcupine, do not; my Fingers itch. Ther. I would thou didst itch from Head to Foot, and I had the fcratching of thee, I would make thee the loathfom'ft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the Proclamation.

Ther. Thou grumbleft and raileft every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatnefs, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's Beauty. I, that thou bark'ft at him.

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Ajax. Cobloaf.

Ther. He would pun thee into Shivers with his Fift, as a

Sailor breaks a Bisket.

Ajax. You whorfon Cur.

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou ftool for a Witch.

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, thou fodden-witted Lord; thou haft na more Brain than I have in mine Elbows: An Afinico may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant Afs, thou art here but to thresh Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among thofe of any wit, like a Barbarian Slave. If thou ufe 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 fcuryy 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 this? How now, Therfites? what's the matter, Man?

Ther. You fee him there, do you?

Achil. Ay, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay look upon him.

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Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him wel'.

Achil, Well, why I do fo.

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

Achil. I know that Fool.

Ther. Ay, but that Fool knows not himfelf,

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters, his Evafions 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 strike him, Achilles interpofes Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit-
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

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

Acbil. Peace, Foo'.

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

Ajat. O thou damn'd Cur, I fhall

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

Ther. No, I warrant you, for a Fool's will shame 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. We'll, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft Service was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary, no Man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an Imprefs.

Ther. E'en fo--a great a 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 fpeak 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.

Ther. I will fee you fiang'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 fuch a one that dare Maintain I know not what: 'Tis trash, farewel. Ajax. Farewel! who fhall anfwer 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 fpent,
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 elfe dear, that is confum'd
In not digeftion of this Cormorant War)
Shall be ftruck off. Hector, what say 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 fenfe 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 fearches
To th'bottom of the worft. Let Helen go.
Since the firft Sword was drawn about this Question,
Every Tithe Soul 'mongst many thousand difmes,
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

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