Imatges de pàgina
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Must make perforce an univerfal prey,

And last eat up itself. Great Agamemnon!
This chaos, when degree is fuffocate,
Follows the choaking:

And this neglection of degree is it,
That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
By him one step below; he by the next;
That next by him beneath: so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is fick
Of his fuperior, grows to an envious feaver
Of pale and bloodless emulation.
And 'tis this feaver that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own finews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

Neft. Most wifely hath Ulyffes here discover'd
The feaver, whereof all our power is fick.

Aga. The nature of the sickness found, Ulyffes, What is the remedy?

Uly. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The finew and the fore-hand of our hoft,

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 fcurril jefts;

And with ridiculous and aukward action
(Which, flanderer, he imitation calls)

He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting player, (whose conceit
Lies in his ham-string, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and found

'Twixt

"Twixt his stretch'd 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 unsquar'd;
Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his preft-bed lolling,
From his deep cheft laughs out a loud applause:
Cries--excellent 'tis Agamemnon just --

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Now play me Neftor -
As he, being drest to some oration.
That's done

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as near as the extremeft ends

Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles ftill cries, excellent!

'Tis Neftor right! now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night-alarm:

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And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth, to cough and spit,
And with a palfie fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet 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, fhapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success or lofs, what is, or is not, ferves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Neft. And in the imitation of these twain,
(Whom, as Ulyffes fays, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice) many are infect:
Ajax is grown felf-will'd, and bears his head
VOL VI.

D

In

4

In fuch a rein, in full as proud a pace,
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feafts, rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle; and fets Fherfites

(A flave whofe gall coins flanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt,
To weaken and difcredit our exposure,

How hard foever rounded in with danger.

Ulys. They tax our policy, and call it cowardife,
Count wisdom as no member of the war,
Fore-stall our prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand: the still and mental parts,

That do contrive how many hands fhall Atrike
• When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
"Of their obfervant toil, the enemies weight,
• Why this hath not a finger's dignity;

They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, 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 fouls
By reason guide his execution.

Neft. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horfe

Makes many Thetis fons.

Aga. What trumpet? look Menelaus.

Men. From Troy.

SCENE VI.

Enter Eneas.

[Tucket founds.

Aga. What would you 'fore our tent?

Ene. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?

Aga. Even this.

d

a place

Ene.

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

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

Ene. Fair leave, and large fecurity. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Aga. How?

Ene. I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning, when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus:

Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ?

Aga. This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
But when they would feem foldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, ftrong joints, true swords, and Jove's accord,
Nothing fo full of heart. But peace, Æneas,

Peace Trojan, lay thy finger on thy lips;
The worthiness of praise diftains his worth,

If he that's prais'd himself bring the praise forth:

What the repining enemy commends,

That breath fame blows, that praise fole pure

tranfcends.

Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you your felf Æneas?
Ene. Ay, Greek, that is

my name.

Aga. What's your affair, I pray you?

Ene. Sir, pardon, 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Aga. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.

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Ene. And I from Troy come not to whisper him,

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,

To fet his sense on that attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Aga. Speak frankly as the wind,

It is not Agamemnon's fleeping hour;
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee fo himself.

Ene. Trumpet blow loud:

Send thy brass voice thro' all these lazy tents,
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.

[The trumpets found.

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father)
Who in this dull and long-continu'd truce
Is rufty grown, he bad me take a trumpet,
And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his cafe,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress more than in confeffion
With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
And dare avow her beauty and her worth
In other arms than hers: to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, (or do his best to do it)
He hath a lady, wifer, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet, call,
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rowze a Grecian that is true in love.

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