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Provide the proper palfries, black as jet,
To hale thy vengeful wagon swift away,
And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
And, when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will dismount, and by the wagon wheel.
Trot, like a servile footman, all day long;
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east,
Until his very downfall in the sea.





CALL here my varlet,* I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.



The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker then a woman's tear, Tamer than sheep, fondert than ignorance; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie endrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad In Cressida's love: Thou answer’st, she is fair; Pourʻst in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughmen! This thou tell?st me;


servant to a knight. + Weaker.

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As true thou tell’st me, when I say-I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,
Fails in the promis d largeness: checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest reard:
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant* from his course of growth.


Why then, you princes, Do you.

with cheeks abashed behold our works; And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought

But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love; for, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'dt and kin:
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled.


Take but degree away, untune that string, And hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In meref oppugnancy: The bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides) * Twisted and rambling. + Joined by affinity.

* Absolute.

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Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then every thing includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf.
So doubtedly secondly with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And, last, eat up himself.

'The great Achilles,-(whom opinion crowns)
The sinew and the forehand of our host,-
Having his ear full of his airy fame,

Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Trova Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus,
1. 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 conceito

Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich ] To hear the wooden dialogue and sound

"Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage, f-
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 unsquair’d,||
Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon droppid,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his prest 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 , 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.

* In modern language, takes us off.
+ Supreme.

The galleries of the theatre.
ş Beyond the truth. • || Unadapted

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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, Patroclus,
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,
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.

The still and mental 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 bátters 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.

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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 Phobus.



The wound.of peace is surdity,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
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!

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

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? Ulys. Things small as nothing, for request's sake

only, He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness And speaks not to himself but with a pride Tbat quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth Holds in his blood such swollen 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. Agan.

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 your request, a little from himself.

Ulyss. OʻAgamemnon, 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'revolye 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 as subjugate his merit,

* Fat.

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