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glafs, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praifes but itself in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

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SCENE VIII. Enter Ulyffes.

Ajax, I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring of toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excuse ?

Ulyf. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf-admiffion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?
Ulyf. Things fmall as nothing, for request's sake only,
He makes important: he's poffeft with greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at felf-breath. Imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourfe,
That 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion, rages
And batters down himself; what should I say?
He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens
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.

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
We'll confecrate the fteps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud Lord,
That baftes his arrogance with his own feam,
And never fuffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself, fhall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than him?
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant Lord
Muft not fo ftale his palm, nobly acquir'd,
Nor by my will affubjugate his merit,
VOL, VIII,

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As amply titled as Achilles' is,

By going to Achilles for that were
But to enlard his pride, already fat,

And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

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 this applaufe!
Ajax. If I go to him

I'll path him o'er the face.

-with my armed fift

Aga. O no, you fhall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride
Let me go to him.

Ulyf. 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?
Ulyf. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

Aga. He'll be the physician, that should be the patient.
Ajax. An all men were o' my mind

Uly. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he should eat fwords firft:

fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.

Ulyf. He would have ten hares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,

Neft. He's not yet through warm, force him with praises;

pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

Ulyf. My Lord, you feed too much on this diflike.

Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him đôth him harm. Here is a man -but 'tis before his face

I will be filent."

Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Uly. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Ajas. A whorfon dog! that palters thus with us

Would he were a Trojan !

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now

Ulf. If he were proud!

Dio. Or covetous of praife!

Ulyf. Ay, or furly-born!

Dio. Or ftrange, or self-affected!

Ulf. Thank the heav'ns, Lord, thou art of fweet com pofure;

Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition!
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight;
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,

And give him half! and for thy ftrength and vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield

To finewy Ajax! I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a borne, 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?

Ulyf. Ay, my good fon.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulyf. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our great General

To call together all his ftate of war;

Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to-morrow, friends,
We must with all our main of pow'r ftand fast:
And here's a Lord, come Knights from eaft to weft,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the best.
Aga. Go we to council, let Achilles fleep;

Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep.

Q.4

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT III. SCENE I.
Paris's Apartment in the Palace in TROY.

Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within.] RIEND! you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young Lord Paris?

Pan.

F

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

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. Are you in the state of grace?

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend: Honour and Lordship are

What mufick is this?

[my titles:

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

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 understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whofe request do thefe men play?

Ser. That's to't indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the requeft of Paris my Lord, who's there in perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's vifible foul.

Pan. Who? my coufin Cressida ?

Ser. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out that by her attributes ?

Pan. It should feem, fellow, that thou haft not seen the

Lady

Lady Creffida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complemental affault upon him, for my business feethes.

Ser. Sodden bufinefs! there's a few'd phrafe indeed.
SCENE II.

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fait be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair com pany! fair defires in all fair measure fairly guide them; efpe tially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow! Helen, Dear Lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You fpeak your fair pleasure, fweet Queen: fair Prince, here is good broken mufick.

Par. You have broken it, coufin, and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you fhall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony. Pan. Truly, Lady, no.

Helen. O, Sir

Pand. Rude, in footh; in good footh, very rude. Par. Well faid, my Lord; well, you fay fo in fits. Pan. I have bufinefs to my Lord, dear Queen ; my Lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?

Helen. Nay, this fhall not hedge us out, we'll hear you fing certainly.

Pan. Well, fweet Queen, you are pleasant with me: but, marry thus, my Lord; my dear Lord and moft esteemed friend your brother Troilus-d

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, honey-fweet Lord.

Pan. Go to, fweet Queen, go toCommends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan, Sweet Queen, fweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, i'faith and to make a fweet Lady fad, is a fower offence. Helen. Nay, that shall not ferve your turn, that fhall it not in truth la. Nay, care not for fuch words, no,

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Pan. And, my Lord, he defires you, that if the King call for him at fupper, you will make his excufe.

Helen, My Lord Pandarus

Pan,

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