Imatges de pàgina



The Grecian Camp.

Enter Thersites folus.
O W now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fu-

ry? shall the elephant Ajax carry it 'thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction! would it were otherwise; 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 serpentine craft of thy Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, less 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 massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or rather the bone-ach, for that methinks is the curse 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 Thersites come in and rail.

Ther. If I could have remember'd a gilt counter, thou could st not have flip'd out of my contemplation, but it is no matter, thy self upon thy self! The common curse 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 the that lays thee out says thou


art a fair coarse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she never shrowded any but Lazars; Amen. Where's Achilles ?

Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in a prayer ?
Ther. Ay, the heav'ns hear me.

Enter Achilles.
Achil. Who's there?
Patr. Ther sites, my lord.

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

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

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy self;

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

Patr. Thou may'lt tell, that know'st.
Achil. O tell, tell.

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

Patr. You rascal
Ther. Peace, fool, I have not done.

Achil. He is a privilegʻd man. Proceed, Therfites. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Therfites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, 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, Thersites 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 suffices me thou art.



Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax, and



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Look you, who comes here? --

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

Ther. Here is fuçla patekery, fuch jugling, and such 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 Şerpiga on the subject, and war and lechery confound all.

Aga. Where is Achilles ?
Patr. Within his tent, but ill dispos’d, my lord.

Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here.
He sent our messengers, and we lay by
Our appertainments, visiting of him:
Let him be told so, lest perchance he think
We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.
Patk. I fhall so fay to him.

Ulys. We saw him at the opening of his tent,
He is not sick.

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, 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 shew us the caufe.

A word,

To Agamemnon.
Neft. What moves Ajax tbus to bay at him
Ulys. Achilles

, bath inveigled his fool from bim.
Neft. Who, Therfites?
Ulyta. He
Neft. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.


my lord.


Ulys. No, you see 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 difunite.

Ulys. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may eafily untye.


Enter Patroclus. Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him ?

Ulys. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesie;
His legs are for necessity, not "fexure.

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 ftate,
To call on him; he hopes it is no other,
Bat for your health and your digestion-fake;
An afrer-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 ontflie our apprehensions.
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 say we think him over-proud,
la self-assumption greater than in note




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Of judgment: say, men worthier than himself
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And under-goe in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His course and times, his ebbs and flows; as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he over-hold his price so 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 sleeping gyant; tell him so.
Patr. I shall, and bring his answer presently.

Aga. In second voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him. Ulyses, enter. [Exit Ulysses.

Ajax. What is he more than another ?
Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax. Is he so much? do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am?

Aga. No question.
Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is ?

Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.

Ajax. Why should 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 self but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise. Vi

SCENE His pettis lines.

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