Men. Name her not now, Sir, fhe's a deadly theme. Het. O, pardon-I offend.

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

Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perfeus, fpur thy Phrygian steed,
Bravely defpifing forfeits and fubduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanc'd sword 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 seen thee paufe, and take thy breath,
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This I've feen:
But this thy countenance, ftill lock'd in steel,
I never faw till now. I 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.

Heat. 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 courtesy.

Hect. I would they could.

Neft. By this white beard, I'd fight with you to-morrow. Well, welcome, welcome; I have feen the timeUlys. I wonder now how yonder city ftands, When we have here the base and pillar by us. Hect. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well. Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I faw yourself and Diomede

In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

Uly. Sir, I foretold you then what would enfue: My prophecy is but half his journey yet;

For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,

Yond towers, whose wanton tops do bufs the clouds,

Muft

Muft kifs their own feet.

Hect. I must not believe you:

There they stand yet; and, modeftly, 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.

Uly. So to him we leave it.

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

To feaft with me, and fee me at my tent.

Achil. I fhall foreftall thee, Lord Ulysses;―thou!
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Het. Is this Achilles?

Achil. I am Achilles.

He&t. 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 fecond time, As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

Hed. O, like a book of sport thou'It read me o'er': But there's more in me, than thou understand'st. 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 diftin&t the very breach, where out Hector's great spirit flew. Anfwer me, heav'ns! Heat. It would difcredit the bleft Gods, proud man, To answer fuch a queftion: ftand again.Think'ft thou to catch my life fo pleasantly, As to prenominate, in nice conjecture, Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

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;
VOL. VII.

T

But,

But, by the forge that fmithied Mars his helm, (40)
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.-
You wifest Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His infolence draws folly from my lips;

But I'll endeavour deeds to match thefe 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, (41)
Can fcarce intreat you to be odd with him.

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

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

(40) But by the forge that ftythied Mars bis belm.] So, again, in Hamlet;

And my imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's fitby.

A fitby, or fith, fignifies an anvil, So CHAUCER in his Knight's Talez

-and the fmith

That forgeth sharpé fwerdis on the ftith.

And the word is ftill current in our northern counties. But, I own, I fufpect this not to have been our Author's word either in Hamlet or here. For, in the first place, an anvil is far from being the dirtieft thing in a smith's fhop: and then the forge, or furnace, cannot be faid to anvil the helmet. I have corrected

But by the forge that fmithied Mars's belm.

A fmitby is the working shop of a smith; and to fmitby, is to`perform the work and office of a smith.

(41) The general ftate, I fear,.

Can fcarce intreat you to be odd with him.] This is obfcurely exprefs'd, but the meaning must be this. Notwithstanding this bluftering which you have made, I fear, the whole Grecian confederacy with their united prayers could fcarce prevail with you to make Hector your adversary in good earnest, to oppose yourself to him. This will be farther explain'd by a paffage in King Henry V.

Say, if my father render fair reply,

It is against my will; for I defire
Nothing but odds with England,

Het. 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 shall
Concur together, feverally intreat him

To taite your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt
Manent Froilus and Ulyffes.

Trei. My Lord Ules, tell me, I befeech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Ulyf. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feaft 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 Creffid.

Troi. Shall 1, fweet Lord, be bound to thee so much, After you part from Agamemnon's tent,

To bring me thither?

Uly. You fhall command me, Sir:

As gently tell me, of what honour was

This Creffida in Troy; had she no lover there,

That wails her absence?

Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boafting fhew their scars,

A mock is due. Will you walk on, my

Lord?

She was belov'd, fhe lov'd; fhe is, and doth:

But, ftill, sweet love is food for Fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.

I'

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

ACHILLES.

'LL heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,
Which with my fcimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
T 2

Patroclus,

Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Therfites.

Enter Therfites.

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ? (42)
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.
Patr. Who keeps the tent now?

Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well faid, adversity; 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. (43)

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

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes 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 impofthume, fciaticas, lime-kilns i'th' palm, incurable bone-ach, and the rivell'à fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous discoveries.

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to cure thus?

Ther. Do I curse thee?

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

Ther. No why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial fkein of fley'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou taffel of a prodigal's purse, thou?

(42) How now, thou core of envy ?

Thou cruffy batch of Nature.] Thus all the printed copies: but what is a cruffy batch of Nature? We must certainly read, botcb; i. e. scab, fore, &c. So, before, in the beginning of the 2d A&;

And those boils. did run-fay so;

were not that a botchy core?

-Did not the general run,

(43) Thou art thought to be Achilles's male variet.] Dr. Thirlby very reasonably conjectures, barlot; and this feems confirm'd by that Therfites immediately subjoins;- -Why, bis mafculine whore.

Ah,