H°

SCENE V.

The Grecian Camp.

Enter Therfites folus.

O W now, Therfites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? fhall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy fatisfaction! would it were otherwife; that I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me: 'sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken 'till these two undermine it, the walls will stand 'till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and Mercury lose all the ferpentine craft of thy Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, lefs than little wit from them that they have; which short-arm'd ignorance it self knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing the maffy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or rather the bone-ach, for that methinks is the curfe dependant on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers, and devil Envy say Amen. What ho! my lord Achilles!

Enter Patroclus

Patr. Who's there? Therfites? Good Therfites come in and rail. Ther. If I could have remember'd a gilt counter, thou could'st not have slip'd out of my contemplation, but it is no matter, thy felf upon thy felf! The common curfe of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee. Let thy blood be thy direction 'till thy death, then if fhe that lays thee out says thou

art

art a fair coarse, I'll be sworn and fworn upon't fhe never fhrow

ded any but Lazars; Amen. Where's Achilles?

Patr. What, art thou devout? waft thou in a prayer ?

Ther. Ay, the heav'ns hear me.

Achil. Who's there?

Enter Achilles.

Patr. Therfites, my lord.

Achil. Where, where? art thou come? why, my cheese, my digestion ---why haft thou not served thy felf up to my table, so many meals? come, what's Agamemnon?

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Patr. Thy lord, Therfites: then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy felf?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me Patroclus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'st.

Achil. O tell, tell.

Ther. I'll decline the whole queftion. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my lord, I am Patroclus's knower, and Patroclus is a fool.

Ther. Peace, fool, I have not done.

Achil. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Therfites.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Therfites is a fool, and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is a fool.

Achil. Derive this; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Therfites is a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive. Patr. Why am I a fool!

Ther. Make that demand to thy creator, it fuffices me thou art.

6

SCENE

SCENE VI.

Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, Diomedes, Ajax, and
Chalcas.

Look you, who comes here?-

Achil. Patroclus, I'll fpeak with no body: come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit.

Ther. Here is fuch patchery, fuch jugling, and fuch knavery: all the argument is a cuckold and a whore, a good quarrel to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon: now the dry Serpigo on the subject, and war and lechery confound all.

Aga. Where is Achilles?

Patr. Within his tent, but ill difpos'd, my lord.

Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here. He fent our meffengers, and we lay by

Our appertainments, vifiting of him:

Let him be told fo, left perchance he think

We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Patr. I fhall fo fay to him.

Ulys. We saw him at the opening of his tent,

He is not fick.

[Exit.

Ajax. Yes, lion-fick, fick of a proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man, but by my head 'tis pride; but why, why? let him fhew us the caufe.

my lord.

Neft. What moves Ajax thus to bay at hima

A word,

[To Agamemnon.

Ulyf. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
Neft. Who, Therfites?

Uly. He

Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have loft his argument.

Ulyf

Ulys. No, you fee he is his argument, that has his argument, Achilles.

Neft. All the better, their fraction is more our wish than their faction; but it was a strong counsel that a fool could disunite. Uly. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may eafily untye.

SCENE VII.

Here comes Patroclus.

Enter Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him?

Uly. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtefie; His legs are for neceffity, not flexure.

k

Patr. Achilles bids me fay, he is much forry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure,
Did move your greatness, and this noble state,
To call on him; he hopes it is no other,
But for your health and your digeftion-fake;
An after-dinner's breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;

We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outflie our apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him; yet his virtues
(Not virtuously on his own part beheld)
Do in our eyes begin to lose their glofs;
And like fair fruit in an unwholsom dish,
Are like to rot untafted: Go and tell him,
We come to speak with him, you shall not fin
If you do fay we think him over-proud,

In felf-affumption greater than in note

* flight.

Of

Of judgment: fay, men worthier than himself
Here tend the favage ftrangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And under-goe in an observing kind

His humorous predominance; yea, watch

1 His course and times, his ebbs and 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 can't go to war :
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a fleeping gyant; tell him so.

Patr. I fhall, and bring his answer presently.
Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfied,
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter.
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 question.

Ajax. Will you fubscribe his thought, and fay he is?

Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant, as wife, no less 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 glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle, and whatever praises it felf but in the deed, devours the deed in the praife.

His pettifh lines.

SCENE