So do each lord; and either greet him not, Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with us? Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general? Achil. Nest. Nothing, my lord. Agam. Achil. The better. No [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR. Good day, good day. Men. How do you? how do you? [Exit MENELAUS. Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles? 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 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 Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out I'll interrupt his reading.— How now, Ulysses? Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son? A strange fellow here Achil. What are you reading? Achil This is not strange, Ulysses. Till it hath travell'd, and is married 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: (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 Where they are extended; which like an arch reverberates Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; The unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse; That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are, 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, While some men leave to do! How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me, 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: Perséverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, D'er-run and trampled on: Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand; And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,— The present eye praises the present object : If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Achil. I have strong reasons. Ulyss. Of this my privacy But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical: 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters. Achil. Ulyss. Is that a wonder? Ha! known? The providence that's in a watchful state, |