SCENE II. The Grecian Camp. How, now, Therfites? what loft in the Labyrinth of thy Fury? Shall the Elephant, Ajax, carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy Satisfaction! would it were otherwife; that I could beat him, whilft he rail'd at me: 'Sfoot, I'll learn to Conjure and raife Devils, but I'll fee fome issue of my fpiteful Execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare Engineer. If Troy be not taken 'till thefe two undermine it, the Walls will ftand 'till they fall of themfelves. O thou great Thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the King of Gods; and Mercury, lofe all the Serpentine Craft of thy Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, lefs than little, wit from them that they have, which fort-arm'd Ignorance it felf knows, is to abundant fcarce, 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 Curfe deper dant on thofe that war for a Placket. I have faid my Prayers, and Devil, Envy, fy Amen. What ho? my Lord Achilles? Enter Patroclus. Patr. Who's there? Therfites. Good Therfites, come in and rail. Ther. If I could have remembred a gilt Counter, thou would'ft not have flip'd out of my Contemplation, but it is no matter, thy felf upon thy felf. The common Curfe of Mankind, Folly and Ignorance be thine in great Revenue; Heav'n blefs thee from a Tutor, and Difcipline come not near thee. Let thy Blood be thy direction 'till thy Death, then if she that lays thee our, fays thou art a fair Coarte, I'll be fworn and fworn upon't, the never throwded any but Lazars, Amen. Where's Achilles? Patr. What, art thou devout? waft thou in a Prayer? Enter Achilles. Achil. Who's there? Pair. Therfites, my Lord. X 3 Achil. Achil. Were, where? art thou come? why, my Cheese, my Digeftion why haft thou not ferved thy felf up to my Table, fo many Meals? Come, what's Agamemnon? Ther. Thy Commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? Patr. Thy Lord, Therfites: then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy felf? Ther. Thy Knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou? Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'st. 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 Rafcal Ther. Peace, Fool, I have not done. Achil. He is a privileg'd Man. Proceed, Therfites. Ther. Agamemnon is a Fool, Achilles is a Fool, Therfites is a Fool, and, as aforefaid, 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, Therfites is a Fool to ferve fuch a Fool, and Patroclus is a Fool pofitive. Patr. Why am I a Fool? Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, Diomedes, Ajax, and Chalcas. Ther. Make that demand to the Creator, it fuffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here? Achil. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with no Body: Come in with me, Therfites. [Exit. Ther. Here is fuch Patchery, fach Jugling, and fuch Knavery all the Argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulatious Factions, and bleed to Death upon: Now the dry Serpigo on the Subject, and War and Lechery confound all. Aga. Where is Achilles? Patr. Within his Tent, but ill difpos'd, my Lord. He fent our Meffengers, and we lay by Our Appertainments, vifiting of him: Let Let him be told of, left perchance he think Patr. I fhall fo fay to him. Vlyf. VVe faw him at the opening of his Tent, He is not fick. Ajax. Yes, Lion-fick, 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 ? caufe. A word, my Lord. let him fhew us the [To Agamemnon. Neft. VVhat moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Vly. He. Neft. Then will Ajax lack Matter, if he have loft his Argument. Vlyf. No, you fee he is his Argument, that has his Argument, Achilles. Neft. All the better, their Fraction is more our wifh than their Faction; but it was a strong Counsel that a Fool could difunite. Vlyf. The Amity that Wisdom knits not, Folly may eafily untye. Here comes Patroclus. Enter Patroclus. Neft. No Achilles with him? Vlyf. The Elephant hath Joints, but none for Courtefie; His Legs are Legs for neceffity, not for flight. Patr. Achilles bids me fay, he is much forry, Aga. Hear you, Patroclus; We are too well acquainted with thefe Anfwers: Much attribute he hath, and much the reafon, And And like fair Fruit in an unwholfom Dish, If And under-honeft; in Self-affumption greater Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself, Pat. I fhall, and bring his anfwer prefently. Ajax. What is he more than another? [Exit. [Exit Ulyffes. Ajax. Is he fo much? do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than I am? Aga. No queftion. Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his Thought, and fay, he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no lefs noble, much more gentle, and altogether more aractable. Ajax. Why fhould 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, eats up himself. Pride is his own Glafs, his own Trumpet, his own Chronicle, and whatever Praises it felf but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praise. Enter Enter Ulyffes. Ajax. I do hate a proud Man, as I hate the engendring of Toads. Neft. Yet he loves himself: Is't not ftrange? Vlyf. Achilles will not to the Field to Morrow. Ulys. He doth rely on none; But carries on the Stream of his Difpofe, In Will peculiar, and in Self-admiffion, Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Un-tent his Perfon, and fhare the Air with us? Vlyf. Things fmall as Nothing, for Requests fake only And batters 'gainst it felf; what should I fay? Aga. Let Ajax go to him. Dear Lord, go you and greet him in his Tent; Vlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo, As amply Titl'd, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles. X 4 This |