Ulyff. Neftor,

Neft. What fays Ulyffes?

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

Uly. 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, fhedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To over-bulk us all.

Neft. Well, and how now?

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

Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Neft. The purpose is perfpicuous even as Substance, Whose groffnefs little characters fum up. And, in the publication, make no strain, But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya, (tho', Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enough,) will with great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose

Pointing on him.

Uly. And wake him to the answer, think you? Neft. Yes, 'tis moft meet; whom may you elfe oppose,

6 The purpofe is perfpicuous even as Subftance,

Whofe groffness little characters fum up.] That is, the purpofe is as plain as body or fubftance; and tho' I have collected this purpofe from many minute particulars, as a grofs body is made up of fmall infenfible parts, yet the refult is as clear and certain as a body thus made up is palpable and vifible. This is the thought, tho' a little obfcured in the concifenefs of the expreffion.

That

That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a sportful combat,
Yet in this tryal much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans tafte our dear'ft Repute
With their fin'ft palate: and truft 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 diftill'd
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,

What heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part,
To steel a ftrong opinion to themselves!
Which entertain'd, limbs are his inftruments,
In no lefs working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyff. 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 fhew,
Shall fhew the better. Do not then confent,
'That ever Hector and Achilles meet:
For both our honour and our fhame in this
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 : But he already is too infolent;

And we were better parch in Africk Sun,
Than in the pride and falt fcorn of his eyes,

Should

Should he 'fcape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our beft man. No, make a Lott❜ry;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw

The Sort to fight with Hector: 'mong our felves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will phyfick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, 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 still,

That we have better men. But, hit or mifs,
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 taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him ftreight;
Two curs fhall tame each other; pride alone
7 Muft tar the maftiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.
The Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Therfites.

THERSITES,

Ajax.

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

all over, generally.

[Talking to himself.

7 Muft tar the mastiffs on,-] Tarre, an old English word

fignifying to provoke or urge on.

Snatch at his Mafter

See King John, A
like a Dog
that doth tar him on.

4. Scene 1.

Mr. Pope.

Ajax. Therfites,

Ther. And those boils did run

fay fo-did 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, canft thou not hear? feel then.

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

Ajax.

Speak then, you windyeft leaven, speak; I will beat thee into handfomnefs.

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 canst ftrike, canft thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks! Ajax. Toads-ftool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Doeft thou think, I have no fenfe, thou ftrik'ft me 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 didft itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathfom'ft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the proclamation

Ther. Thou grumbleft and raileft 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'ft at him.

Ajax. Miftrefs Therfites!

Ther. Thou fhouldit ftrike him.
Ajax. Cobloaf!

I Speak then, thou W HINID'ST leaven,] This is the reading of the old copies It fhould be wINDYEST, i. e. moft windy; leaven being made by a great fermentation. This epithet agrees well with Therfites's character.

Ther.

Ther. He would pound thee into fhivers with his fift, 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 Affiego may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among those 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, 2 thou thing of no bowels, thou!

do.

Ajax. You dog!

Ther. You fcurvy lord!

Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, dơ,

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.

2 thou thing of no BOWELS,] Tho' this be fenfe, yet I believe it is not the poet's, who makes Therfites reflect altogether on Ajax his want of wit, not want of compaffion. I should imagine, therefore the true reading was,

Thou thing of no VOWELS.

i, e. without fenfe; as a word without vowels is jargon and contains no idea. This is much in the phrafeology given to Therfites.

Ther.