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Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses;
I'll interrupt his reading-
How now, Ulysses?
Ulyss.

Now, great Thetis' son?
Achil. What are you reading ?
Ulyss.

A strange fellow here
Writes me, That man-how dearly ever parted",
How much in having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.
Achil.

This is not strange, Ulysses. The beauty that is borne here in the face The bearer knows not, but commends itself To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself (That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd Salutes each other with each other's form. For speculation turns not to itself, Till it hath travell'd, and is married there Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all.

Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, It is familiar; but at the author's drift: Who, in his circumstancet, expressly provesThat no man is the lord of any thing (Though in and of him there be much consisting), Till he communicate his parts to others : Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them form'd in the applause Where they are extended; which, like an arch, re.

verberates The voice again; or like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this: And apprehended here immediately

• Excellently endowed.

+ Detail of argumento

The unknown Ajax. •
Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse;
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things

there are,
Most abject in regard, and dear in use!
What things again most dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow,
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
While others play the idiots in her eyes !
How one man eats into another's pride,
Wbile pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords !-why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me, As misers do by beggars : neither gave to me Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot?

Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past: which are de

vour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a trusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright. Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost; Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,

O'er-run and trampled on: Then what they do in

present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: For time is like a fashionable lost, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue

seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds*, Though they are made and moulded of things past; And give to dust, that is a little gilt, More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present eye praises the present object : Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; Since things in motion sooner catch the eye, Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, And still it might; and yet it may again, If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, And case thy reputation in thy tent; Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Made emulous missions t'mongst the gods them

selves, And drave great Mars to faction. Achil.

of this my privacy I have strong reasons.

But’gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical : 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

Ulyss.

# New-fashioned toys.

+ The descent of the deities to combat on either side.

With one of Priam's daughters*.
Achil.

Ha! known?
Ulyss. Is that a wonder?
The providence that's in a watchful state,
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps;
Keeps place with thought, and alniost, like the gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles,
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to :
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord;
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena:
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump;

all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, Great Hector's sister did Achilles win ; But our great Ajax bravely beat down him. Farewell, my lord : I as your lovert speak; The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.

(Erit. Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you: A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; They think, my little stomach to the war, And your great love to me, restrains you thus : Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew.drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air.

Shall Ajax fight with Hector? Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour

by him.

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Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.
Patr.

O, then beware;
Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves :
Oinission to do what is necessary
Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus : I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing, An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; To talk with him, and to behold his visage, Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd!

Enter Thersites.
Ther. A wonder!
Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

Achil. How so?

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess, that hath no arithmetick but her brain to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say—there were wit in this head, an 'twould out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a Aint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hec. tor break not his neck i'the combat, he'll break it himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, Good-morrow, Ajax; and he replies, Thanks, Aga. memnon. What think you of this man, that takes

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