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(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 fay 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 go to him-with my armed fift
I'll pafh him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, Ill pheese his pride; let me go to him.

Uly. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel,

Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow

Neft. How he defcribes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?

Ulyff. The raven chides blackness.

Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

Aga. He'll be the phyfician, that should be the patient.

Ajax. And all men were o' my mind
Uly. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he fhould eat fwords

firft: fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.

Uly. He would have ten fhares.

2

-4

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple Neft. He is not yet through warm: force him with praifes; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. Ulyff. My lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Uly. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm. 2 Ajax. Iwill knead him, I'll make him fupple, he's not yet through warm.] The latter part of this fpeech fhould be given to Neftor.

Here

Here is a man- but 'tis before his face

I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore should you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulyff. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorfon dog! that palters thus with us Would he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now

Ulyff. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praise.

Ulyff. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.

Uly. Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of sweet compofure;

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 yields

To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Inftructed by the Antiquary times;

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain fo temper'd,
You thould not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father?

Ulyff. Ay, my good fon.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Uly. 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, friends,

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We must with all our main of pow'r stand fast: And here's a lord, come Knights from Eaft to Weft, And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the beft. Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep; Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I

Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy.

Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within.]

FR

PANDAR U S.

RIEND! you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young lord Paris?

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman: I

muft needs praise him.

Ser. The lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, Sir, fuperficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord
Pandarus.

Ser. I hope, I fhall know your honour better.
Pan. I do defire it.

Ser. You are in the ftate of Grace.

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend: honour and lordship, are my titles:

What mufick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is musick in

parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

Ser

Ser. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Ser. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend?

Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufick.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Ser. Who fhall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whofe requeft do these men play?

Ser. That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who's there in perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, (a) love's visible foul.

Pan. Who, my coufin Creffida?

Ser. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out That by her attributes?

Pan. It fhould feem, fellow, that thou haft not seen the lady Creffida. I come to fpeak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complemental affault upon him, for my bufinefs feethes.

Ser. Sodden business! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed.

S C E N E II.

Enter Paris and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair Defires in all fair measure fairly guide them; efpecially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts your fair pillow!

be

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You fpeak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen; fair Prince, here is good broken musick.

Par. You have broken it, coufin, and, by my life,

[(a) love's vifible foul. Oxford Editor-Vulg. love's invifible foul.]

VOL. VII.

Ee

you

:

you shall make it whole again; you fhall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, Sir

Pan. Rude, in footh; in good footh, very rude. Par. Well faid, my lord; well, you fay fo in fits.

Pan. I have bufinefs to my lord, dear Queen; my lord, will you vouchfafe me a word?

Helen. Nay, this fhall not hedge us out; we'll hear you fing, certainly.

Pan. Well, fweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but marry thus, my lord;-my dear lord, and moft esteemed Friend, your brother Troilus

Helen. My lord Pandarus, honey-fweet lord,Pan. Go to, fweet Queen, go to —— Commends himself moft affectionately to you. Helen. You fhall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet Queen, fweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, I'faith.

Helen. And to make a fweet lady fad, is a fower offence. Nay, that fhall not serve your turn, that shall it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for fuch words,

no, no

Pan. And, my lord, he defires you, that if the King call for him at fupper, you will make his excuse. Helen. My lord Pandarus,

Pan. What fays my sweet Queen, my very very fweet Queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand, where fups he to night?

Helen. Nay, but my lord,

Pan. What fays my fweet Queen? my coufin will fall out with you.

Helen. You must not know where he fups.

Par.

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