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Yourself shall feaft with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.

Manent Ulyffes and Neftor.

Ulf. Neftor,

Neft. What fays Ulyffes?

[Exeunt.

Uly. I have a young conception in my brain, Be you my time to bring it to fome shape. - Neft. What is't?

Ul. This 'tis :

Blunt wedges rive hard knots; the feeded pride,
That hath to this maturity blown up

In rank Achilles, muft or now be cropt,

Or, hedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To over-bulk us all.

Neft. Well, and how now ?

Uly. This Challenge that the gallant Hector fends, However it is fpread in general name,

Relates in purpofe only to Achilles.

Neft. The purpose is perfpicuous even as Substance, (8)

(8) The Purpofe is confpicuous ev'n as Substance,

Whofe Groffness little Characters fum up.

And in the Publication make no Strain:] The modern Editors, 'tis plain, have lent each other very little Information upon this Paffage: Tupaòs Tupa idays, as the Proverb fays; the Blind have led the Blind. As they have pointed the Paffage, 'tis ftrange Stuff; and how they folv'd it to themselves, is paft my Discovery. That little Characters, or Particles, fum up the Groffness of any Subftance, I conceive: but how thefe Characters, or Particles, make no Strain in the Publication, feems a little harder than Algebra. My Regulation of the Pointing, brings us to clear Senfe; "The Aim and Purpose of this

Duel is as vifible as any grofs Subftance can be, compounded "of many little Particles:" And having said thus, Ulyffes goes on to another Obfervation; "And make no Difficulty, no Doubt, "when this Duel comes to be proclaim'd, but that Achilles, dull " as he is, will difcover the Drift of it." This is the Meaning of the laft Line. So afterwards in this Play, Ulyffes fays,

I do not strain at the Pofition,

i. e. I do not hesitate at, I make no Difficulty of it.

Whofe

Whofe groffnefs little characters fum up.
And, in the publication, make no ftrain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, (tho', Apollo knows,

'Tis dry enough,) will with great fpeed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him.

Uly. And wake him to the answer, think

you ?
Neft. Yes, 'tis most meet; whom may you elfe oppofe,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a fportful combat,
Yet in this tryal much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans talte our dear'ft Repute
With their fin'ft palate: and truit to me, Ulyffes
Our imputation fhall be odly pois'd
In this wild action. For the fuccefs,
Although particular, fhall give a fcantling
Of good or bad unto the general:
And in fuch indexes, although fmall pricks
To their fubfequent volumes, there is feen
The baby figure of the giant mafs

Of things to come, at large. It is fuppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, iffues from our Choice;
And Choice, being mutual act of all our fouls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere, from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues; who mifcarrying,

What heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part,
To feel a strong opinion to themselves!

Which entertain'd, limbs are his inftruments,
In no lefs working, than are fwords and bows.
Directive by the limbs.

Uly. Give pardon to my Speech;

Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, fhew our fouleft wares,
And think, perchance, they'll fell; if not,
The luftre of the better yet to shew,
Shall fhew the better. Do not then confent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:

For both our honour and our shame in this]

P 3

Are

Are dogg'd with two ftrange followers.

Neft. I fee them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Uly. What Glory our Achilles fhares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all fhould share with him :
Put he already is too infolent;

And we were better parch in Africk Sun,
Than in the pride and falt fcorn of his eyes,
Should he 'fcape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man.

No, make a Lott'ry;

And by device let blockish Ajax draw

The Sort to fight with Hector: 'mong ourselves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will phyfick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applaufe, and make him fall
His creft, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come fafe off,
We'll drefs him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion ftill,

That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this fhape of Senfe affumes,
Ajax, imploy'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Neft. Ulyffes, now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a tafte of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him straight;
Two curs fhall tame each other; pride alone
Muft tar the maftiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE, the Grecian Camp.
Enter Ajax and Therfites.

THERSITES,

AJAX.

Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boiles- full,

all over, generally.

Ajax. Therfites,

[Talking to himself.

Ther.

Ther. And those boiles did run-fay fodid not the General run? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog!

Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him: I fee none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, cant thou not hear? feel then.

[Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak then, you unwinnow'd'ft (9) leaven, fpeak; I will beat thee into hand fomness.

Ther. I fhall fooner rail thee into wit and holiness, but, I think, thy horfe will fooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book: thou canft ftrike, canft thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toad's tool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Doft thou think, I have no fenfe, thou ftrik'ftme thus ?

Ajax. The proclamation

Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.

Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the fcratching of thee; I would make thee the loathfom'ft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the proclamation

Ther. Thou grumbleft and railet every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's Beauty: ay, that thou bark'st.

at him.

Ajax. Miftrefs Therfites!

Ther. Thou shouldst ftrike him.

(9) Speak then, you unfalted Leaven, speak;] This is a Reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no Authority or Counte nance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Degree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid'ft Leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible; but the Emendation, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a fense apt and confonant to what Ajax would fay Thou Lump of four "Dough, kneaded up out of a Flower unpurg'd and unfifted, 4 with all the. Dross and Bran in it.”. P 4

Ajax..

Ajax, Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pound thee into shivers with his fist,

as a failor breaks a bisket.

Ajax. You whorfon cur!
Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou ftool for a witch!

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou fodden-witted lord ; thou haft no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Affinego may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant afs ! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among thofe of any wit, like a Barbarian flave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!

Ajax. You dog!

Ther. You fcurvy lord.

Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his idiot! do rudeness; do, camel, de, do. Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you this? How now, Therfites? what's the matter, man? Ther. You fee him there, do you?

Achil. Ay, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why, I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for who. foever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters ; his evafions have ears thus long.

I have bobb'd his

brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine fparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a fparrow. This lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I fay of him..

Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to ftrike him, Achilles interpofes.

Ther.

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