Patr. They pass by strangely: they were us'd to

bend,

To send their smiles before them to Achilles;

To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep
To holy altars.

Achil.

What, am I poor of late?

'Tis certain, Greatness, once fallen out with fortune.
Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man,

Hath any honour; but honour for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Do one pluck down another, and together
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy

At ample point all that I did possess,

Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses;

I'll interrupt his reading.—

How now, Ulysses?

Ulyss.

Now, great Thetis' son?

A strange fellow here

Achil. What are you reading?

Ulyss.

Writes me, That man-how dearly ever parted,

How much in having, or without, or in,—
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.

Achil.

This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is borne here in the face,
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself,
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself,

Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all.

Ulyss. I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar; but at the author's drift:

Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves→

That no man is the lord of any thing,

(Though in and of him there be much consisting,)

Till he communicate his parts to others:

Nor doth he of himself know them for aught

Till he behold them form'd in the applause

Where they are extended; which, like an arch, reverberates

The voice again; or like a gate of steel

Fronting the sun, receives and renders back

His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this; And apprehended here immediately

The unknown Ajax.

Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse;

That has he knows not what.

there are,

Nature, what things

Most abject in regard, and dear in use!

What things again most dear in the esteem,

And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow,
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do!

29 How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords !-why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me,
As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me
Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot?
Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,

A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes :

Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd

As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

As done: Perseverance, dear my lord,

Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang

Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail

In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,

Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons,

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

Or, like a gallant horse 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 slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles,

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

For beauty, wit,

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

To envious and calumniating time.

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

More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.

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 sooner catch the eye,

Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,

If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent;

Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,

The reasons are more potent and heroical:

'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.

Achil.

Uyss. 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 almost, like the gods, Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

There is a mystery (with whom relation

Durst never meddle) in the soul of state;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure 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,