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Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his Superior, grows to an envious feaver
Of pale and bloodless emulation.
And 'tis this feaver that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews, To end a Tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

Neft. Most wisely hath Ulyfjes here discover'd
The feaver, whereof all our power is sick.

Aga. The nature of the sickness found, Ulyses,
What is the remedy?

Ulyl. 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 designs. With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day
Breaks scurril jefts ;
And with ridiculous and auk ward action
(Which, Nanderer, he imitation calls)
He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless Deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting Player, (whose conceit
Lies in his ham-string, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage)
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 unsquar’d:
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
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

me Nestor-hum, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being drest to some oration.
That's done-as near as the extremelt ends (12)

(12) as near as the extremelt Ends Of Parallels ;] i.e. vaftly distant; fór parallel Lines, tho they run all the way equi-diftant, yet their Extremities are as far off from each other as the Points of East and Weft.

Of

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:
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth, to cough and spit,
And with a palfie fumbling on his gorget;
Shake in and out the rivet-and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries “ O! -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,
Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success or loss, what is, or is not, ferves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Neft. And in the imitation of these twain,
(Whom, as Ulyfes says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice) many are infect:
Ajax is grown self-willid, and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a pace,
As broad Achilles; and keeps his tent like him ;
Makes factious feasts, rails on our state of war,
Bold as an Oracle ; and sets Tbersites
(A Nave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How hard foever rounded in with danger.

Uly). They tax our policy, and call it cowardise,
Count wisdom as no member of the war ;
Fore-stall our prescience, and efteem no Act
But that of hand: The still and mental parts,
That do contrive how many hands fhall strike,
When fitness call 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 Mapp'ry, closet war: (13)

So (13) They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet War,] The Poet in my Opinion would say, This is planning out Action and War, as a Man

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 souls
By reason guide his execution.

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

[Tucket sounds. Aga. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. Men. From Troy.

Enter Æneas.

Aga. What would you 'fore our tent ?
Æne. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?
Aga. Even this.

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

Aga. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm,
'Fore all the Greekis heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon Head and General.

Æne. Fair leave, and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals ?

Aga. How?

Àne. 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 Phæbus:
Which is chat 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.

Æne, Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d, As bending Angels; that's their fame in peace:

might do on his Pillow and in his Closet. If so, bedwork must be the Epithet to Mappery, as closet 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.

But

But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, (14)
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, Jove's

Accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas ;
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips ;
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If he, that's prais’d, himself bring the praise forth :
What the repining enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that praise sole pure

transcends.
Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you your self Æneas?
Æne. Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Aga. What's your affair, I pray you?
Æne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.
Aga. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy,

Àne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him ;
I bring a trumpet to awake his Ear,
To set his fenfe on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Aga. Speak frankly as the wind,
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour;
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee fo himself.

(14) But when they would seem Soldiers, they have Galls, Good Arms, Atrong Joints, true Swords, and Jove's Accord, Nothing so full of heart.] Can the Poet be suppos’d to mean, that the Trojans had Jove's Accord whenever they would seem Soldiers ? No; certainly, he would intimate that nothing was so full of Heart as they, when that God did but shew himself on their Side. This Circumstance, added, brings no Impeachment to their Courage: Valour would become Presumption and Impiety in them, if they had trusted to it when Jove manifestly declared himself on the other Side. My Regulation of the Pointing fixes the Poet's Sense; and 'tis every where his Manner to mention the Concurrence of the Deity suppos'd.

Our Coronation done, we will accite
( As I before remember'd,) all our State,
And (Heav'n consigning to my good intents,) &c. 2 Henry IV.

- for, God before,
We'll chide this Dauphin at his Father's Door.

Henry V.
Yet, God before, tell him, we will come on.

Íbid.
That by the Help of These, (with Him above
To ratify the Work)

Macbeth. &c. &c. &c.

Æne.

Æne. Trumpet, blow loud:
Send thy brass voice thro' all these lazy tents ;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, shall 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 rusty grown; he bad me take a trumpet,
And to this purpose speak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
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 Challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, (or do his best to do it)
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to morrow with his trumpet call,
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rowze a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Heator shall honour him:
If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,
The Grecian Dames are fun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance ; — even so much.

Aga. This shall be told our lovers, lord Æneas.
If none of them have foul in such a kind,
We've left them all at home: but we are soldiers ;
And may that soldier 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 Nestor ; one, that was a man
When Hector's Grandfire fuckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian Host
One Nobleman that hath one fpark of fire,

To

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