Achil. Where, where? art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digeftion, why haft thou not ferved thyself in to my table fo many meals? Come; what's Agamemnon!

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

Patr. Thy lord, Therfites.-Then tell me, 1 pray thee, what's thyfelf?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus.

Patroclus, what art thou?

Patr. Thou must tell that know'ft.

Achil. O tell, tell

Then tell me,

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

Pair. You rafcal!

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 ferve fuch a fool; and Patroclus is a fool pofitive.

Patr. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand 3 of the prover. It fuffices me, thou art.

-decline the whole queftion.-] Deduce the queftion from the first cafe to the lat. JOHNSON.

2

-Patroclus is a fool.] The four next speeches are not in the quarto. JOHNSON.

of the prover.] So the quarto. JOHNSON. The folio reads,of thy creator. STERVENS,

Enter

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

Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with no body.-Come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is fuch patchery, fuch juggling, and fuch knavery! All the argument is, a cuckold, and a whore a good quarrel to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon. 4 Now the dry ferpigo on the fubject! and war and lechery confound all! [Exit. 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.
5 He fhent 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 say to him.

[Exit. Ulyf. We faw him at the opening of his tent; He is not fick.

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. A word, my lord.

[To Agamemnon. Neft. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Ulyf. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Neft. Who? Therfites?

Ulyf. He.

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

Now the dry, &c ] This is added in the folio.

JOHNSON.

5 He SENT our messengers ;-] This nonfenfe fhould be read, He SHENT our meffengers ;

-i. e. rebuked, rated.

Ulyf. 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 6 compofure, a fool could difunite.

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

Re-enter Patroclus.

Here comes Patroclus.

Neft. No Achilles with him.

Ulyf. The elephant hath joints; but none for courtesy;

His legs are for neceffity, not for flexure.

Patr. Achilles bids me fay, he is much forry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatnefs, and this 7 noble state,
To call on him; he hopes, it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-fake,
An after-dinner's breath.

Aga. Hear you, Patroclus!

We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evafion, wing'd thus fwift with fcorn,
Cannot outfly our apprehenfions.

Much attribute he hath; and much the reason
Why we afcribe it to him: yet all his virtues-
Not virtuoufly on his own part beheld—
Do in our eyes begin to lofe their glofs ;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholsome dish,
Are like to rot untafted. Go and tell him,

We come to speak to him:

and you fhall not fin If you do fay we think him over-proud,

6

compofure,-] So reads the quarto very properly; but the folio, which the moderns have followed, has, it was a Arong COUNSEL. JOHNSON.

7

noble fate, Perfon of high dignity; fpoken of Agamemnon. JOHNSON.

Noble ftate rather means the ftately train of attending nobles swhom you bring with you. STEEVENS,

And

And under-honeft; in felf-affumption greater
Than in the note of judgment: and worthier than
himself,

Here tend the favage ftrangenefs he puts on;
Difguife the holy ftrength of their command,
And under-write in an obferving kind

8

His humourous predominance; yea, watch
9 His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his 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, lie under this report-

"Bring action hither, this can't go to war:
"A ftirring dwarf we do allowance give
"Before a fleeping giant ;"-tell him fo.

Patr. I fhall, and bring his anfwer prefently. [Exit.
Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be fatisfied,
We come to fpeak with him.-Ulyffes, enter you.

Exit Ulyffes.

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

thinks himfelf

A better man than I am?

Aga. No question.

Do you not think, he

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay, he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax; you are as ftrong, as valiant, As wife, and no lefs 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.

8-under-write] To fubfcribe, in Shakespeare, is to obey. JOHNSON.

9 His pettish lunes,

-] This is Hanmer's emendation of

his pettifh lines. The old quarto reads,

His courfe and time.

This fpeech is unfaithfully printed in modern editions. JOHNS.

Aga. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your

virtues

The fairer. He that's proud eats up himself:
Pride is his own glafs, his own trumpet, his
Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself,
But in the deed, devours the deed i' the praise.
Re-enter Ulyffes.

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

Neft. [Afide.] And yet he loves himself: is it not strange?

Uly. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excufe?

Ulys. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or respect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf-admiffion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?
Ulyf. Things finall as nothing, for request fake only,
He makes important: poffeft he is with greatnefs,
And fpeaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath.-Imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot difcourfe,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,

And batters down himself. What should I fay? He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it Cry-no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

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

Úlyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be so! We'll confecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord,

That