And like fair Fruit in an unwholfom Difh, And under-honeft; in Self-affumption greater Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself, Pat. I fhall, and bring his answer presently. 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 tractable. Ajax. Why fhould a Man be proud? How doth 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 Praife. 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. Vlyf. He doth rely on none; But carries on the Stream of his Dispose, In Will peculiar, and in Self-admiffion. Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair requeft, Un-tent his Perfon, and fhare the Air with us? Uly. Things fmall as Nothing, for Requefts fake only He makes Important: Poffeft he is with Greatnefs, And fpeaks not to himself, but with a Pride That quarrels at Self-breath. Imagin'd Wrath Holds in his Blood fuch fwol'n and hot Discourse, That 'twixt his mental and his active Parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters 'gainft it felf; what should I fay? He is fo 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; Vlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so. Enter his Thoughts, fave fuch as do revolve No, this Thrice Worthy, and Right Valiant Lord, Nor by my Will afsubjugate his Merit, As amply Titi'd, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles. X 4 This This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid, And fay in Thunder, Achilles go to him. Neft. O this is well, he rubs the Vein of him. Dio. And how his filence drinks up his Applause. Ajax. If I go to him-with my armed Fist, I'll pafh him o'er the Face. Aga. O no, you shall not go. Ajax. And a be proud with me, I'll phese his Pride; let me go to him. Vlyf. Not for the worth that hangs upon our Quarrel. Aga. He will be the Phyfician, that should be the Patient. Ulys. Wit would be out of fashion. Ajax. A fhould not bear it fo, a fhould eat Swords first; fhall Pride carry it? Neft. And 'twould, you'd carry half. Ulys. A would have ten shares. Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, he's not yet through warm. Neft. Force him with Praifes, pour in, pour in, his Ambition is dry. Vlyf. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. I will be filent. Neft. Wherefore should you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is. Vlyf. Know the whole World, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorfon Dog! that fhall palter thus with us——————— would he were a Trojan. Neft. What a Vice were it in Ajax now Vlyf. If he were proud. Dio. Or covetous of Praife. Vlyf. Ay, or furly born. Dio. Or strange, or self-affected. (pofure; Uly. Thank the Heav'ns, Lord, thou art of a sweet Com Praife him that got thee, fhe that gave thee fuck: Fame be thy Tutor, and thy parts of Nature Thrice fam❜d beyond, beyond all Erudition; But he that difciplin'd thy Arms to fight, To Sinewy Ajax; I will not praife thy Wisdom He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife. Ajax. Shall I call you Father? Ulys. Ay, my good Son. Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. Uly. There's no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our General, To call together all this State of War; Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to Morrow We must with all our main of Power stand faft: Light Boats may fail swift, though great bulks draw deep. АСТ III. SCENE I. Pan. SCENE Troy. Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. •Fite young Lord Paris? 'Riend! you! pray you a word: Do not you follow Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me. Pan. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean? Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord. Pan. You depend upon a Noble Gentleman: I must needs praise him. Ser. The Lord be praised, Pan. You know me, do you not? Ser. Faith, Sir, fuperficially. Pan. Friend, know me better, I am the Lord Pandarus. Pan. I do defire it. Ser. You are in the ftate of Grace? Pan. Grace, not fo, Friend, Honour and Lordship are my Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Mufick in parts. Ser. Wholly, Sir. Pan. Who play they to? Ser. To the hearers, Sir.. Pan. At whofe pleasure, Friend? Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love Mufick. Pan. Command, I mean, Friend. Ser. Who fhall I command, Sir? Pan. Friend, we underftand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whofe requeft do these Men play? Ser. That's to't indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris, my Lord, who's there in Perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the Heart-blood of Beauty, Love's invifible Soul. Pan, Who, my Coufin Creffida? Ser. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out that by her Attributes? Pan. It should feem, Fellow, that thou haft not feen the Lady Creffida. I come to fpeak with Paris from the Prince. Troilus: I will make a Complemental Affault upon him, for my Business feethes. Ser. Sodden Bufinefs, there's a ftew'd Phrafe indeed. Enter Paris and Helen. Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair Company: Fair defires in all fair meafure fairly guide them, especially to you, fair Queen, fair Thoughts be your fair Pillow. Helen |