Ajax. Cobloaf.

Ther. He would pun thee into Shivers with his Fist, as a

Ajax. Thou ftool for a Witch.

[Bearing him.

Ther. Ay, do, thou fodden-witted Lord; thou haft no more Brain than I have in my Elbows: An Afinice may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant Afs, thou art here but to thresh Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian Slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy Heel, and tell what thou art by Inches, thou thing of no Bowels, thou.

Ajax. You Cur.

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his Idiot; do Rudeness, do Camel, do, do.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do

How now, Therfites? what's the matter, Man?

Ther. You fee him there, do you?

Achil. Ay, what's the Matter?

Ther. Nay look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why I do fo.

you

this?

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for whoso• ever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, Fool.

Ther. Ay, but that Fool knows not himself.

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters, his Evafions have Ears thus long. I have bob'd his Brain more than he has beat my Bones: I will buy nine Sparrows for a Penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth Part of a Sparrow. This Lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his Belly, and his Guts in his Head, I'H tell you what I fay of him.

Achil. What? [Ajax offers to ftrike him, Achilles interpofes.

Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit-
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will ftop the Eye of Helen's Needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, Fool.

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the Fool will not: he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd Cur, I fhall

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a Fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you, for a Fool's will fhame it.
Pat. Good Words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the Quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile Owl, go learn me the tenure of the Proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to,

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft Service was fufferance, 'twas not volunta ry, no Man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the volun tary, and you as under an Impreís.

Ther. E'en fo--a great deal of your Wit too lies in your Sinews, or elfe there be Liars: Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your Brains, he were as good crack a fufty Nut with no Kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, whofe Wit was mouldy e'er their Grandfires had Nails on their Toes, yoke you like draft Oxen, and make you plough up the wair. Achil. What! what!

Ther. Yes, good footh, to Achilles, to Ajax, to
Ajax. I fhall cut out your Tongue,

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou after wards.

Pat. No more Words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles Brach bids me, fhall I

Acbil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like Clotpoles, e'er I come a ny more to your Tents, I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the Faction of Fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Holt, That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun, Will with a Trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy, To Morrow morning call fome Knight to Arms, That hath a Stomach, and fuchia one that dare Maintain I know not what: 'Tis trash, farewel. Ajax. Farewel! who fhall answer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to Lott'ry; otherwife He knew his Man.

Ajax. O, meaning you, I will go learn more of it. [Exit.

SCENE II. Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.
Pri. After fo many Hours, Lives, Speeches spent,
Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks,
Deliver Helen, and all damage else.

(As Honour, lofs of Time, Travel, Expence,
Wounds, Friends, and what elfe dear, that is confum'd
In not digeftion of this Cormorant War)

Shall be truck off. Hector, what say you to't?

Hect. Though no Man leffer fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular; yet, dread Priam,
There is no Lady of more fofter Bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fenfe of fear,
More ready to cry out, Who knows what follows,
Than Hector is; the wound of Peace is furety,
Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd

The Beacon of the wife; the Tent that fearches

To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.

Since the firft Sword was drawn about this Queftion,
Every Tithe Soul 'mongst many thousand difmes,
Hath been as dear as Helen, I mean of ours:
If we have loft fo many Tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us
(Had it our Name) the value of one ten;

What

What merit's in that reafon, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi. Fie, fie, my Brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great is our dread Father) in a Scale

Of common Ounces? Will you with Counters fum
The vaft proportion of his Infinite?

And buckle in a waste, most fathomlefs,
With Spans and Inches fo diminutive,
As Fears and Reafons? Fie for godly fhame.

Hel. No marvel, tho' you bite fo fharp at Reasons,
You are empty of them. Should not our Father
Bear the great fway of his Affairs with Reasons,
Because your Speech hath none that tells him fo?

Troi. You are for Dreams and Slumbers, Brother Priest,
You fur your Gloves with Reason: Here are your Reasons,
You know an Enemy intends you harm:
You know, a Sword imploy'd is perillous,
And Reafon flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his Sword, if he do fet.
The very wings of Reafon to his Hels:

Or like a Star diforb'd.- Nay, if we talk of Reason, And flie like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Let's fhut our Gates and fleep: Manhood and Honour Should have hard Hearts, would they but fat their Thoughts With this cram'd Reafon: Reafon and Refpect

Make Lovers pale, and luftyhood dejec.

Het. Brother, fhe is not worth

What he doth coft the holding.

Troi. What's ought, but as 'tis valu'd?

Hect. But value dwells not in particular Will,

It holds his Estimate and Dignity,

As well wherein 'tis precious of it felf,
As in the prizer: "Tis made Idolatry,
To make the Service greater than the God;
And the will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously it felf affects,
Without fome Image of th' affected Merit.

Troi. I take to day a Wife, and my Election Is led on in the conduct of my Will;

My Will enkindled in mine Eyes and Ears,
Two traded Pilots 'twixt the dangerous Shores
Of Will and Judgment. How may I avoid
(Although my Will distast what is elected)
The Wife I chofe? there can be no evafion
To blench from this, and to ftand firm by Honour.
We turn not back the Silks upon the Merchant,
When we have fpoil'd them; nor the remainder Viands
We do not throw in unrefpective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris fhould do fome Vengeance on the Greeks;
Your Breath of full confent bellied his Sails,
The Seas and Winds (old Wranglers) took a Truce,
And did him Service; he touch'd the Ports defir'd,
And for an old Aunt, whom the Greeks held Captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen, whofe youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the Morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our Aunt:
Is the worth keeping? why, the is a Pearl,
Whose Price hath launch'd above a thousand Ships,
And turn'd Crown'd Kings to Merchants.
If you'll avouch 'twas Wisdom, Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, Go, go:)
If you'll confefs, he brought home noble Prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your Hands)
And cry'd, Ineftimable; why do you now
The iffue of your proper Wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that Fortune never did,.
Begger the Eftimation, which you priz'd
Richer than Sea and Land? O Theft moft bafe!
That we have ftoln what we do fear to keep.
But Theives, unworthy of a thing fo ftoln,
That in their Country did them that Disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native Place.

Enter Caffandra with her Hair about her Ears.

Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry.

Pri. What noife? what fhriek in this?

Troi. 'Tis our mad Sifter, I do know her Voice.
Caf. Cry, Trojans.

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