Ajax. What is he more than another?

Ayam. No more than what he thinks he is. Ajaz. Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks himself a better man than I am?

Agam. No question.

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say -he is?

Agam. 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 pride is.

Agam. Your mind's the 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 itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

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

Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange?

Re-enter ULYSSES.

[Aside.

Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. Agam. What's his excuse? Ulyss. He doth rely on none; But carries on the stream of his dispose, Without observance or respect of any, In will peculiar and in self-admission.

Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request. Untent his person, and share the air with us? Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,

He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,

And batters down himself: What should I say?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it
Cry-No recovery.

Let Ajax go to him.

Agam.
Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent :
Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led,
At your request, a little from himself.

Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!

We'll consecrate the steps, that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord,
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam;
And never suffers matter of the world

Enter his thoughts,-save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he?
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,

By going to Achilles :

That were to enlard his fat-already pride;
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.

This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid ;
And say in thunder-Achilles, go

him.

Nest. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.

[Aside

Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause!

Aside.

Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him

Over the face.

Agam.

O, no, you shall not go. Ajar. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride: Let me go to him.

Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow,

Nest.

Himself!

Ajax. Can he not be sociable?

Chides blackness.

Agam He'll be physician, that should be the

How he describes

[Aside.

Ulyss.

Ajax.

I will let his humours blood.

patient.

[Aside.

Ajax. An all men

Ulyss.

Were o'my mind,——

Ajar. He should not bear it so,

He should eat swords first: Shall pride carry it? Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. He'd have ten shares. [Aside.

Ulyss.

Wit would be out of fashion.

[Aside.

Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him sup-
ple:--
Nest. He's not yet thorough warm: force him
with praises:

Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.. [Aside.
Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
[To Agamemnon.
Nest. Our noble general, do not do so.
Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him

harm.

Here is a man-But 'tis before his face ;

I will be silent.

Nest.

Wherefore should you so?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us!

I would he were a Trojan!

Nest.

Were it in Ajax now

Ulyss.

What a vice

Dio. Or covetous of praise?

Ulyss.

If he were proud?

Ay, or surly borne?

Dio. Or strange, or self-affected?

Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet

composure;

Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, 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 vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield

To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor,-
Instructed by the antiquary times,

He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ;-
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax', and your brain so temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.
Ajax.
Nest. Ay, my good son.

Dio.

Shall I call you father?

Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Ulyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles

Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war;

Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow,
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here's a lord,-come knights from east to west,
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw
deep.
[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Troy. A room in Priam's Palace.

Enter PANDARUS and a Servant.

Pan. Friend! you! pray you, a word: Do not you follow the young lord Paris?

Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman;

I must needs praise him.

Serv. The lord be prais'd!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord

Pandarus.

Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better.

Pun. I do desire it.

Serv. You are in the state of grace.

[Musick within. Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles:-What musick is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is musick in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians ?
Serv. Wholly, sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love musick. Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose request do these men play?

Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person;

with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?

Serv. No, sir, Helen; Could you not find out that by her attributes?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seeths. Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase, indeed!

Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. -Fair prince, here is good broken musick.

Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance :-Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir,-

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits. Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen: My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But (marry) thus, my lord,-My dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother TroilusHelen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to:-commends 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, sweet queen; that's a sweet
queen, i'faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour

offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no.-And, my lord, he desires you, that,