Ene. The noble Menelaus.

Het. O

you, my Lord.

by Mars his gauntlet,

(thanks

Mock not, that I affect th' untraded oath ;

Your quendam wife fwears ftill by Venus' glove.

She's well, but bad me not commend her to you.
Men. Name her not now, Sir, fhe's a deadly theme.
Het. O, pardon-I offend.

Neft. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft
Labouring for deftiny, make cruel way

Through ranks of Greekip youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perfeus, fpur thy Phrygian steed,
Bravely defpifing forfeits and fubduements,
When thou haft hung thy advanc'd fword i'th'air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd;

That I have faid unto my ftanders by,
Lo! Jupiter is yonder dealing life.

And I have feen thee paufe, and take thy breath,
When that a ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. Thus I've feen thee,
But this thy countenance, ftill lock'd in fteel,
I never faw 'till now, Í knew thy grandfire,
And once fought with him; he was a foldier good,
But, by great Mars the captain of us all,

Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee,
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents,
Ene. 'Tis the old Neftor.

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
That haft fo long walk'd hand in hand with time:
Moft reverend Neftor, I am glad to clafp thee.

Neft. I would my arms could match thee in contention, As they contend with thee in courtefie.

Heft. I would they could.

Neft. By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. Well, welcome, welcome; I have feen the time --Ulyf. I wonder now how yonder city ftands, When we have here the bafe and pillar by us. Heft. I know your favour, Lord Ulyffes, well. Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I faw your felf and Diomede In Ilion, on your Greekib embaffie.

Ulyf. Sir, foretold you then what would enfue.
My prophefie is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do bufs the clouds,
Muft kifs their own feet.

Het. I must not believe you:

There they stand yet; and modefty I think,
The fall of every Phrygian stone will coft
A drop of Grecian blood; the end crowns all,
And that old common arbitrator Time
Will one day end it.

Ulyf. So'to him we leave it.

Moft gentle, and moft valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I befeech you next

To feaft with me, and fee me at my tent.
Achil. I fhall foreftal thee, Lord Ulyffes now,
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee,
I have with view exact perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Hect. Is this Achilles ?

Achil. I am Achilles.

Hect. Stand fair, I pr'ythee, let me look on thee,
Achil. Behold thy fill,

Het. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief. I will the second time,

As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er:
But there's more in me than thou understand'ft.
Why doft thou fo opprefs me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body Shall I deftroy him? whether there, or there, That I may give the local wound a name, And make distinct the very breach, where-out Hector's great fpirit flew. Anfwer me, heav'ns

Het. It would difcredit the bleft Gods, proud man,

To anfwer fuch a question: ftand again.
Think'st thou to catch my life fo pleasantly,
As to prenominate in nice conjecture,

Where thou wilt hit me dead?>

Achil. I tell thee, yea..

VOL. VIII,

T

Hect. Wert thou the oracle to tell me fo,
I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But by the forge that ftithied Mars his helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.
You wifeft Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His infolence draws folly from my lips;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never ——

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, coufin;
And you, Achilles, let thefe threats alone
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If you have ftomach. The general state, I fear,
Can fcarce intreat you to be at odds with him.

Het. I pray you, let us fee you in the field,
We have had pelting wars fince you refus'd
The Grecians' caufe.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector?
Tomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death ;
To-night, all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece, go to my tent,
There in the full convive you; afterwards,
As Hector's leifure and your bounties fhall
Concur together, feverally intreat him

To tafte your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know.

SCENE X.

Manent Troilus and Ulyffes.

Troi. My Lord Ulyffes, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Uiyf. At Menelaus' tent, moft princely Troilus
There Diomede doth feast with him to-night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view

On the fair Crefid.

[Exeunt

Troi. Shall I, fweet Lord, be bound to thee fo much, After you part from gamemnon's tent,

To bring me thither?

Ulyf

Ulyf. You shall command me, Sir:
As gently tell me, of what honour was
This Creffida in Troy; had the no lover
There, that now wails her abfence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boafting fhew their fears,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my Lord?
She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth.
But ftill, fweet love is food for fortune's tooth.

Acbil.

ACT V. SCENE I.
Before Achilles's Tent in the Grecian Camp.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

[Exeunt.

'L L heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night

I which with my Icimitar I'll cool to-morrow.

Patroclus, let us feaft him to the height.

Pat. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites:

Acbil. How now, thou core of envy?
Thou crufty botch of nature, what's the news?

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou feem'ft, and idol of ideot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.

Achil. From whence, fragment?

Ther. Why, thou full difh of fool, from Troy.

Pat. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound.* Pat. Well faid, adverfity; and what need these tricks? Ther. Pr'ythee be filent, boy, I profit not by thy talk ; thou art thought to be Achilles's male-harlot.

Pat. Male-harlot, you rogue? what's that?

Ther. Why, his mafculine whore. Now the rotten dif eafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of impoftume, fciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palm, incurable bone-ake, and the rivell'd fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous debaucheries!

Pat, Why, thou damnable box of envy thou, what mean't thou to curfe thus ?

Ther. Do I curfe thee?

In this andwer Therfites only quibbles upon the word Tent.

T 2

Pata

Pat. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorefon indiftinguishable cur.

Ther. No? why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial skein of fley'd filk; thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye; thou taffel of a prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pefter'd with fuch water-flies, diminutives of nature!

Pat. Nut-gall!
Ther. Finch-egg!

Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battel:
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,

A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep
An oath that have fworn. I will not break it,
Fall Greek, fail fame; honour, or go, or stay,
My major vow lyes here; this I'll obey.
Come, come, Therfites, help to trim my tent,
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, these two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of mad-men. Here's Agamemnon, an honeft fellow enough, and one that loves

quails, but he hath not fo much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, (the primitive ftatue, and antique memorial of cuckolds) a thrifty fhoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg; to what form, but that he is of, fhould wit larded with malice, and malice farced with wit turn him? to an afs were nothing, he is both afs and ox; to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and afs: to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what

This is a circumftance taken from the story-book of the three deftractions of Troy.

+ Meaning wanton Women: Quails being of fo hot a conftitution that it is a proverb among the French, Chaud comm' une caille. And Des cailles coiffées is an expreffion ufed by Rabelais.