Of his Superior, grows to an envious fevil,
Of pale and bloodless emulation.

And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own finews. To end a Tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.
Neft. Moft wifely hath Ulyffes here discover'd
The fever, whereof all our power is fick.

Aga. The nature of the fickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?

Uly. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The finew and the fore-hand of our Hoft,
Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our defigns. With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day

Breaks fcurril jests;

And with ridiculous and aukward action
(Which, flanderer, he imitation calls)

He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless Deputation he puts on;

And, like a ftrutting Player, (whose conceit
Lies in his ham-ftring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and found
'Twixt his ftretch'd-footing and the fcaffoldage)
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrefted Seeming
He acts thy Greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unfquar'd:
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would feem hyperboles. At this fufty ftuff
The large Achilles, on his preft-bed lolling,
From his deep cheft laughs out a loud applaufe:
Cries excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just-

Now play me Neftorhum, and ftroke thy beard,
As he, being dreft to fome oration.

That's done

-as near as the extremest ends Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife: Yet good Achilles ftill cries, excellent! 'Tis Neftor right! now play him me, Patroclus, Arming to anfwer in a night-alarm:

And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age

Muft

Must be the scene of mirth, to cough and fpit,
And with a palfie fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet

and at this fport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, O!-enough, Patroclus
Or "
give me ribs of fleel, I fhall split all
"In pleasure of my fpleen." And, in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, fhapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or fpeech for truce,
Succefs, or lofs, what is, or is not, ferves
As ftuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Neft. And in the imitation of these twain,
(Whom, as Ulyffes fays, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice) many are infect:
Ajax is grown felf-will'd, and bears his head
In fuch a rein, in full as proud a pace,

As broad Achilles; and keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feafts, rails on our state of war,
Bold as an Oracle; and sets Therfites

(A flave, whofe gall coins flanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;

To weaken and difcredit our exposure,
How hard foever rounded in with danger.

Uly. They tax our policy, and call it cowardife,
Count wifdom as no member of the war;
Fore-ftall our prescience, and esteem no Act
But that of hand: The ftill and mental parts,
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness call them on, and know by measure
Of their obfervant toil the enemies' weight;
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity;

They call this bed-work Mapp'ry, closet war: (6)

(6) They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet War,] The Poet in my Opinion, would fay, This is planning out Action and War, as a Man might do on his Pillow, and in his Clofet. If fo, bedwork must be the Epithet to Mappery, as clofet is to War: and therefore I have expung'd the Comma, which separated the First from its Subftantive. So Guiderius, in Cymbeline, speaking of an unactive Life, fays it is

A cell of Ignorance; travelling a-bed.

So

So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those, that with the fineness of their fouls
By reafon guide his execution.

Neft. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Makes many Thetis' fons.

Aga. What trumpet? look, Menelaus.
Men. From Troy.

Enter Æneas.

Aga. What would you 'fore our tent?

[Tucket founds.

Ene. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?
Aga. Even this.

Ene. May one, that is a Herald and a Prince,
Do a fair meffage to his kingly ears?

Aga. With furety ftronger than Achilles' arm,

'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon Head and General.

Ene. Fair leave, and large fecurity. How may

A ftranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals ?
Aga. How?

Ene. I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning, when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phœbus:

Which is that God in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

Aga. This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending Angels; that's their fame in peace: But when they would feem foldiers, they have galls, (7)

(7) But when they would feem Soldiers, they have Galls,

Good

Good Arms, Arong Joints, true Swords, and Jove's Accord, Nothing fo full of heart.] Can the Poet be fuppos'd to mean, that the Trojans had Jove's Accord whenever they would feem Soldiers? No; certainly, he would intimate that nothing was fo full of heart as they, when that God did but shew himself on VOL. VII.

P

their

Good arms, ftrong joints, trae fwords; and, Jove's
Accord,

Nothing fo full of heart. But peace, Æneas ;
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips;
The worthiness of praise diftains his worth,

If he, that's prais'd, himfelf brings the praise forth:
What the repining enemy commends,

That breath Fame blows, that praise fole

pure tranfcends. Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Eneas? Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Aga. What's your affair, I pray you?

Ene. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

Aga. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy. Ene. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him;

I bring a trumpet to awake his Ear,

To fet his fenfe on the attentive bent,

And then to speak.

Aga. Speak frankly as the wind,

It is not Agamemnon's fleeping hour ;
That thou thalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.

Ene. Trumpet, blow loud:

Send thy brafs voice thro' all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, fhall be spoke aloud.

[The trumpets found.

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A Prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father)
Who in this dull and long-continu'd truce
Is rufty grown; he bade me take a trumpet,
And to this purpofe fpeak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'ft of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That feeks his praise more than he fears his peril,

their Side. This Circumftance, added, brings no Impeachment to their Courage: Valour would become Prefumption and Impiety in them, if they had trufted to it when Jove manifeftly declared himself on the other Side. My Regulation of the Pointing fixes the Poet's Senfe; and 'tis every where his Manner to mention the Concurrence of the Deity suppos'd.

That

That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress more than in confeffion,
(With truant vows to her own lips, he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth
In other arms than hers: to him this Challenger
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, (or do his best to do it)
He hath a lady, wifer, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compafs in his arms;
And will to morrow with his trumpet call,
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouze a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Hector fhall honour him :
If none, he'll fay in Troy when he retires,

The Grecian Dames are fun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance;
even fo much.

Aga. This fhall be told our lovers, lord Eneas,
If none of them have foul in fuch a kind,

We've left them all at home: but we are foldiers;
And may that foldier a meer recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I'm he.
Neft. Tell him of Neftor; one, that was a man
When Hector's Grandfire fuckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian Hoft

One noble man that hath one spark of fire,
To answer for his love: tell him from me,
I'll hide my filver beard in a gold beaver
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn ;
And, meeting him, will tell him, that my lady
Was fairer than his grandam, and as chafte
As may be in the world: his youth in flood,
I'll

pawn this truth with my three drops of blood.
Ene Now heav'ns forbid fuch scarcity of youth!
Uly. Amen.

Aga. Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your hand :
To our Pavilion fhall I lead you
first:
Achilles fhall have word of this intent,
So fhall each lord of Greece from tent to tent:

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