« EdellinenJatka »
And that great Minds, of partial Indulgence
Troi. Why there, you touch'd the Life of our Design:
Heft. I am yours,
SCENE II. The Grecian Camp.
Enter Therlites folus. How, now, Thersites? what lost in the Labyrinth of thy Fury? Shall the Elephant, Ajax, carry it thus ? He beats me, and I rail at him: 0 worthy Satisfaction ! would it were otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilst he raild at me : 'Sfoot, I'll learn to Conjure and raise Devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful Execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare Engineer. If Troy be not taken ’uill these two undermine it, the Walls will stand 'till they fall of themselves. O ihou great Thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou are Jove the King of Gods; and Mercury, lose all the Serpentine Craft of thy Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, Je's than little, wit fiom them that they have, which Mortăzrm'd Ignorance it self knows, is to abundane scarce, it will not in Circumvention deliver a Fly from a Spider, without drawing the massy Irons and cutting the Web: After this, the Vengeance on the whole Camp, or rather the Bone-ach, for that, methinks, is the Curre deperdant on those that war for a Placket. I have said my Prayers, and Devil, Envy, sy Amen. What ho? my Lord Achilles ?
Exter Patroclus. Patr. Who's there? Therfites. Good Therfites, come in and rail.
Ther. If I could have rem« mbred a gilt Counter, thou would'It not hive slip'd out of my Contemplation, but it is no matter, thy self upon thy felf. The coinmon Curse of Mankind, Forly and Ignorance be thine in great Revenue; Heav'n bless thee from a Tutor, and Discipline come not near thee: Let thy Blood be thy direction 'till thy Death, then if she that lays thee out; lays thou art a fair Coarse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never throwded any but Luzars, Amen. Where's Achilles ?
Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in a Prayer?
Achil. Were, where? art thou come? why, my Cheese, my Digestion why haft thou not served thy self up to my Table, so many Meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?
Ther. Thy Commarder, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles ?
Patr. Thy Lord, Therfites : then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy felf?
Ther. Thy Knower, Patroclus : then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou ?
Patr. Thou may'st tell, that know'st.
Ther. I'll decline the whole Question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Lord, I am Patroclus's Knower, and Patroclus is a Fool.
Patr. You Rascal
Ther. Agamemnon is a Fool, Achilles is a Fool, Therfites is a Fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a Fool.
Achil. Derive this; come.
Patr. Why am I a Fool?
Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with no Body: Come in with me, Therfites.
[Exit. Ther. Here is such Patchery, such Jugling, and such Knavery : all the Argument is a Cuckold and a Whore, a good quarrel to draw emulatious Fa&ions, and bleed to Death upon : Now the dry Serpigo on the Subject, and War and Lechery confound all.
Aga. Where is Achilles ?
Aga. Let it be known to him that we are here.
Let him be told of, left perchance he think
Patr. I shall so say to him.
Ulys. VVe saw him at the opening of his Tent,
Ajax. Yes, Lion-sick, fick of a proud heart: you may call it Melancholy, if you will favour the Man, but by my head, 'tis Pride; but why, why? - let him thew us the cause. A word, my Lord.
Nést. Theo will Ajax lack Matter, if he have loft his
Ulys. No, you see he is his Argument, that has his Argument, Achilles.
Neft. All the better, their Fra&ion is more our wish thao their Faction; but it was a strong Counsel that a Fool could disunite.
Ulys. The Amity that Wisdom knits not, Folly may eafily untye.
Neft. No Achilles with him?
Ulys. The Elephant hath Joints, but none for Courtelie;
Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much forry,
Aga. Hear you, Patroclus;
And like fair Fruit in an unwholsom Dish,
Pat. I fhall, and bring his answer presently. [Exi.
Aga. In second Voice we'll not be satisfied,
[Exit Ulylles. Ajax. What is he more than ano:her? Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax, Is he so much? do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than I am?
Aga. No question.
Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no lefs 'noble, much more gentle, and altogether more wractable.
Ajax. Why mould a Man be proud ? How dcth Pride grow? I know not what it is.
Aga. Your Mind is clearer, Ajax, and your Virtues the fairer; he that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own Glass, his own Trumpet, his own Chronicle, and whatever Praises it self but in the Deed, devours the Deed in the Praise,