And last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate,

Follows the choking.

And this neglection of degree it is

That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general's disdained
By him one step below; he, by the next;
That next, by him beneath: so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation:
And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
Nes. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discovered
The fever whereof all our power is sick.

Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy?

Ulys. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs: with him, Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day Breaks scurril jests;

And with ridiculous and awkward action (Which, slanderer! he imitation calls) He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And, like a strutting player,—whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound "Twixt his stretched footing and the scaffoldage,Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks; 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared,

Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropped,

Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his pressed bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries, "Excellent! 't is Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being 'ddressed to some oration."
That's done as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, "Excellent!
'Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm."
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit,
And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sport
Sir Valour dies; cries, "O, enough, Patroclus;
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen." And in this fashion,

All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Nes. And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice) many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-willed; and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle: and sets Thersites

(A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.

Ulys. They tax our policy, and call it cow-
ardice;

Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Forestal prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand: the still and mental parts,—
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness calls them on; and know, by mea-

sure

Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight,-
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:
They call this-bed-work, mappery, closet-war;
So that the ram that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those that, with the fineness of their souls,
By reason guide his execution.

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounds. Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

Enter ENEAS.

Men. From Troy.

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent?
Ene. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray?
Agam. Even this.

Ene. May one, that is a herald and a prince, Do a fair message to his kingly ears?

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general.

Æne. Fair leave, and large security. How may A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals? Agam. How?

Ene. Ay: I ask, that I might waken reve

rence,

And bid the cheek be ready with a blush, Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phœbus:

'Tis dry enough,-will, with great speed of judgment,

Ay, with celerity,-find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Ulys. And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nes. Yes, 't is most meet: whom may you else

oppose,

That can from Hector bring those honours off,
If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;

For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their fin'st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly poised
In this wild action: for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general;
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subséquent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass

Of things to come at large. It is supposed,
He that meets Hector issues from our choice,
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 't were from forth us all, a man distilled
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertained, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulys. Give pardon to my speech:Therefore, 't is meet Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares, And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,

The lustre of the better shall exceed,
By shewing the worse first. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame, in this,
Are dogged with two strange followers.

Nes. I see them not with my old eyes: what

are they?

Ulys. What glory our Achilles shares from
Hector,

Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;

And we were better parch in Afric sun,
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foiled,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves,
Give him allowance for the better man,
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull, brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still,
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,-
Ajax, employed, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nes. Ulysses,

Now I begin to relish thy advice;

And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 't were their bone.

Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son! canst thou not hear? Feel, then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven! speak: I'll beat thee into handsomeness.

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toadstool! learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

Ajax. The proclamation,

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine! do not; my fingers itch.

Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

Ajax. I say, the proclamation,

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty; ay, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites !

Ther. Thou shouldst strike him.
Ajax. Cob-loaf!

Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You whoreson cur!

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch!

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!

Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax, wherefore do you thus?

How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Achil. Ay; what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do; what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 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