That one by one purfue: If you give way,
Or hedge afide from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost ;-

Or, like a gallant horfe 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 host,

That flightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms out-ftretch'd, as he would fly,
Grafps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles,

And farewell goes out fighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;

For beauty, wit,

High birth, vigour of bone, defert in fervice,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.

One touch of nature makes the whole word kin,—
That all, with one confent, praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things paft;
And give to duft, that is a little gilt,

More laud than gilt o'er-dufted.

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 fooner catch the eye,
Than what not ftirs. The cry went once on thee,
And ftill it might, and yet it may again,

If thou would't not entomb thyfelf alive,
And cafe thy reputation in thy tent;

Whofe glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil.

I have strong reasons.

Uly

Of this my privacy

But 'gainst your privacy

The reasons are more potent and heroical :
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.

Achil.

Uly. Is that a wonder?

Ha! known?

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 almoft, like the gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durft never meddle) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath, or pen, can give expreffure 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 fhall in our islands found her trump;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping fing,-
Great Hector's fifter did Achilles win;

But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.

Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;

The fool flides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit.
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 ftand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, reftrains you thus:

Sweet, roufe 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 fhook to air.

Achil.

Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. Achil. I fee, my reputation is at stake;

My fame is fhrewdly gor❜d.

Patr.

O, then beware;

Thofe wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves:
Omiffion to do what is neceffary

Seals a commiffion to a blank of danger;

And danger, like an ague, fubtly taints
Even then when we fit idly in the fun,

Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus:
I'll fend the fool to Ajax, and defire him

To invite the Trojan lords after the combat,

To fee us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am fick withal,

To fee great Hector in his weeds of peace ;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
Even to my full of view. A labour fav'd!

Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Enter THER SITES.

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

Achil. How fo?

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

Achil. How can that be?

Ther.

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 fet down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say— there were wit in this head, an 'twould out; and fo there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector 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, Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both fides, like a leather jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my embassador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who, I? why, he'll anfwer nobody; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you fhall fee the pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him,-I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent; and to procure fafe conduct for his perfon, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, fix-or-feven-times-honour'd captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this.

Patr. Jove blefs great Ajax.
Ther. Humph!

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,-
Ther. Ha!

Patr. Who moft humbly defires you, to invite Hector to his tent;

Ther. Humph!

Patr. And to procure fafe conduct from Agamemnon.

Ther. Agamemnon ?

Patr. Ay, my lord.

Ther. Ha!

Patr. What fay you to't?

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart.

Patr. Your answer, fir.

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.

Patr. Your answer, fir.

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What mufick will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not: But, I am fure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his finews to make catlings on.

Achil. Come, thou fhalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horfe; for that's the more capable creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain ftirr'd; And I myself fee not the bottom of it.

[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an afs at it! I had rather be a tick in a fheep, than such a valiant ignorance.

[Exit.

ACT