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The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love ; for then, the bold and coward,
The wife and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd, and kin ;
But in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction with a broad and pow'rful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away ;
And what hath mass, or matter by itself,
Lies rich in virtue, and unmingled.
Achilles described by Ulysses.
The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The finew and the fore-hand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs. With him, Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed, the live long day Breaks fcurril jefts ; And with ridiculous and aukward action (Which, flanderer, he imitation calls) He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And like a strutting player, (whose conceit Lies in his ham-string, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage) Such to-be-pitied, and o'er-wreited seeming, He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 'Tis like a chime a mending ; with terms unfquar’d, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt, Would seem hyperboles. At this fuity stuff The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause : Cries-excellent !-'tis Agamemnon just Now play me Neftor-chum, and stroke thy beard, As he, being drest to fome oration. That's doneas near as the extremeft ends
Of parallels ; as like as Vulcan and his wife ;
Yet good Achilles still cries, excellent !
"Tis Nestor right! now play with me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night-alarm:
And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth, to cough and spit,
And with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet--and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, “O!-enough, Patroclus-
Or give me ribs of steel, I shall split all
" In pleasure of my spleen”. And, in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
SCENE VI. Respect.
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning, when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phæbus.
The wound of peace is furety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is callid
'The beacon of the wife ; the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worst,
SCENE IV. Pleasure and Revenge.
Pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice
Of any true decision.
Scene VIII. The Subtlety of Ulyffes, and Stupidity
Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring of toads.
Neft. Yet he loves himself : is't not strange?
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excufe?
Ulys. 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-admiffion.
Aga. Why will he not upon our fair requeft,
Untent his person, and share the air with us ?
Ulyf. Things small as nothing, for requests fake only,
He makes important: he's poffeft with greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self breath. Imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoll'n 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 fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry, no recovery.
Aga. Let Ajex go to him.
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.
Uly. 0, Agamemnon, let it not be fo,
We'll confecrate 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 matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (save such as do revolve
And ruininate 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 fo ftale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, affubjugate his merit
(As amply titled as Achilles is), by going to Achilles.:
That were t'inlard his pride, already fat,
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 to him!
Neft. o, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applause !
Ajax. If I
gro to him with any armed filt,
I'll pash him o'er the face.
Aga. O no, you shall not go.
Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride ; let me go to him.
Ulyf. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry, infolent fellow
Neft. How he describes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Ulyf. The raven chides blacknefs.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.
Aga. He'll be the physician that should be the parent
Ajax. And all men were o'my mind-
Ulys: Wit would be out of fashion.
Ajax. He should not bear it fo, he should eat fwords first? fhall pride carry it?
Neft. An 'twould, you'd, carry half.
Ulys. He would have ten shares.
Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,
Neft. He's not yet through warm; force him with praises, pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
Ulyf. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Neft. Our noble general, do not do fo.
Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Ulyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a man--but 'tis before his facem
I will be filent.
Neft. Wherefore should you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Ulyf. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog ! that palters thus with us. 'Would he were a Trojan!
Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now
Ulyf. If he were proud.
Dio. Or covetous of praise.
Uly. Ay, or furly borne.
Dio. Or strange, or self-affected.
Ulys. Thank the heaven's, lord, thou art of fweet com-
Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck :
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd beyond, 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 vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition vields
To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Instructed by the antiquary times;
He inust, he is, he cannot but be wise :
But pardon, father Neftor, 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. Shall I call you father?
Ulyf. Ay, my good fon.
Dio. Be rul’d by him, lord Ajax.
Ulys. 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 pow'r stand fast:
And here's a lord, come knights from east to west,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax Thall cope the best.