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And like fair Fruit in an unwholfom Difh,
Are like to rot untafted; go and tell him,
We come to speak with him, and you fhall not fin;
If you do fay, we think him over-proud,

And under-honeft; in Self-affumption greater

Than in the note of Judgment; and worthier than himself,
Here tend the favage Strangeness he puts on,
Difguife the holy Strength of their command,
And under write in an obferving kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lines, his ebbs, his flows; as if
The paffage and whole carriage of this Action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price fo much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an Engine
Not portable, lye under this report.
Bring Action hither, this cannot go to War:
A ftirring Dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a fleeping Gyant; tell him fo.

Pat. I fhall, and bring his answer presently.
Aga. In fecond Voice we'll not be fatisfied,,
We come to speak with him. Ulyffes, enter you.

Ajax. What is he more than another?
Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

[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.
Aga. What's his Excufe!

Vlyf. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the Stream of his Dispose,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,

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;
'Tis faid he holds you well, and will be led
At your requeft, a little from himself.

Vlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so.
We'll confecrate the Steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles; fhall the proud Lord,
That baftes his Arrogance with his own Seam,
And never fuffers matter of the World

Enter his Thoughts, fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself? Shall he be worship'd,
Of that we hold an Idol, more than he?

No, this Thrice Worthy, and Right Valiant Lord,
Muft not fo ftale his Palm, nobly acquir'd,

Nor by my Will afsubjugate his Merit,

As amply Titi'd, as Achilles is, by going to Achilles.
That were to enlard his Fat, already, Pride,
And add more Coles to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

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.
Ajax. A paultry Infolent Fellow
Neft. How he defcribes himself.
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Vlyf. The Raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his Humours Blood.

Aga. He will be the Phyfician, that should be the Patient.
Ajax. And all Men were a my Mind-

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.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Vlyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a Man----but 'tis before his Face-----

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,
Let Mars divide Eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy Vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield

To Sinewy Ajax; I will not praife thy Wisdom
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts; here's Neftor
Inftructed by the Antiquary times:

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife.
But pardon, Father Neftor, were your Days
As green as Ajax, and your Brain fo temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him
But be as Ajax.

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:
And here's a Lord (come Knights from Eaft to Weft,
And cull their Flower) Ajax fhall cope the best.
Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles Aeep;

Light Boats may fail swift, though great bulks draw deep.
[Exeunt. Mufick founds within.

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.

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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.
Ser. I hope I fhall know your Honour better.

Pan. I do defire it.

Ser. You are in the ftate of Grace?

Pan. Grace, not fo, Friend, Honour and Lordship are my
Titles: What Mufick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Mufick in parts.
Pan. Know you the Muficians?

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

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