Изображения страниц

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 scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and awkward action
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
He pageants * us. Sometime great Agamemnon,
Thy toplesst deputation he puts on;
And, like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogues and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage 1,-
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar’d|l,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon droppid,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries-Excellent !-'tis Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor ;-hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being drest to some oration.
That's done ;-as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent !
'Tis Nestor right ! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.
And then, forsooth, 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, 0!-enough, Patroclas,
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,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
* In modern language, takes us off. + Supreme.
The galleries of the theatre.

Beyond the truth. || Unadapted.

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.

CONDUCT IN WAR SUPERIOR TO ACTION. The still and inental parts, – That do contrive how many hands shall strike When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure, Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight,Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: They call this—bed-work, mappery, closet-war: So that the ram, that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the engine; Or those, that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution.


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 Phoebus.


The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is callid
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst.

For pleasure, and revenge,
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision.


Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange?

Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Agam. What's his excuse?

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-admission.

Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his person, and share the air with us? Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake

He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness ;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln 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 so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it
Cry-No recovery.

Agam. Let Ajax go to him..
Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent:
'Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led,
At yoor request, a little from himself.

Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
We'll consecrate 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 matter of the world
Enter his thoughts, - save such as do revolve
And ruminate 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 so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,
By going to Achilles :

* Fat.

That were to enlard his fai-already pride;
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.
Nest. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.

[Aside. Dio. And how his silence drinks

up this applause!

Aside. Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll

pash + him Over the face.

Agam. 0, no, you shall not go. (pride:

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheezef his Let me go to him.

[rel. Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarAjax. A paltry, insolent fellow, Nest.

How he describes Himself!

[Aside. Ajax. Can he not be sociable? Ulyss.

The raven Chides blackness.

[Aside. Ajax.

I will let his humours blood. Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the patient.

Aside. Ajax. An all men Were o' my mind, Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion.

Aside. Ajax. He should not bear it so, He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it?

Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. Ulyss.

He'd have ten shares.

[Aside. Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple :

* The sign in the zodiac into which the sun enters Jane 21. " And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze.'

Thomson: + Strike.

# Comb, or curry.

Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : force* him

with praises : Pour in, pour in; bis ambition is dry. [Aside. Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

[To AGAMEMNON. Nest. O noble general, do not do so. Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm. Here is a man-But 'tis before his face; I will be silent. Nest.

Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous t, as Achilles is.

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with I would, he were a Trojan.

sus ! Nest.

What a vice
Were it in Ajax now-

If he were proud ?
Dio. Or covetous of praise?

Ay, or surly borne?
Dio. Or strange, or self-affected?
Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet

composure; Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck: Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam'd, 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 vigour, Bull-bcaring Milo his addition § yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn II, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor, Instructed by the antiquary times. He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ;But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax, and your brain so temperd,


# Trille.

* Staff. + Envious. || Stream, rivulet.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »