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As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulyffes.
I'll interrupt his reading.—Now, Ulifes ?
Ulyf. Now, Thetis' fon!

Achil. What are you reading?
Uly. A ftrange fellow here

Writes me, that man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in Having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boaft to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues fhining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the firft giver.

Achil. This is not ftrange, Ulyffes.

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 fpirit of fenfe) behold itself
Not going from itfelf; but eyes oppos'd

Salute each other with each others' form.
For fpeculation turns not to itself,

'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may fee its felf; this is not strange,
Uly. I do not ftrain at the pofition,
It is familiar; but the author's drift;
Who, in his circumftance, exprefly proves
That no man is the Lord of any thing,
(Tho' in, and of, him there is much confifting)
Till he communicate his parts to others;

Nor doth he of himself know them for aught,

'Till he behold them form'd in th' applaufe

Where they're extended; which, like an arch, reverb'rates. The voice again; or like, a gate of fteel

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

Heav'ns! what a man is there? a very horfe,

That has he knows not what. Nature! what things there are,

Moft abject in regard, and dear in 'ufe?

What things again moft dear in the esteem,


And poor in worth? now fhall we fee to-morrow
An act, that very Chance doth throw upon him:
Ajax renown'd! Oh heav'ns, what some men do,
While fome men leave to do!

How fome men creep in skittish Fortune's hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feafting in his wantonnefs!
To fee thefe Grecian Lords! why ev'n already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the fhoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breaft,
And great Troy fhrinking.

Achil. This I do believe;

For they pafs'd by me, as mifers do by beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What are my deeds forgot?

Uly. Time hath, my Lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion :

(A great fiz'd monfter of ingratitudes).

Thofe fcraps are good deeds paft, which are devour'd:

As faft as they are made, forgot as foon

As done Perfeverance keeps Honour bright:

To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
Like ruity mail in monumental mockery.
For honour travels in a freight fo narrow,
Where one but goes abreaft? keep then the path;
For Emulation hath a thousand fons,

That one by one purfue; if you give way,
Or turn afide from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindermoft; and there you lie,
Like to a gallant horfe fall'n in first rank,
For pavement to the abject near, o'er-run
And trampled on : Then what they do in prefent,
Tho' lefs than yours in paft, muft o'er-top yours.
For time is like a fashionable hoft,

That flightly fhakes his parting guest by th' hand;
But with his arms out-ftretch'd, as he would fly,
Grafps in the comer; Welcome ever fmiles,

And Farewel goes out fighing. O, let not virtue feek


Remuneration for the thing it was:

For beauty, wit, high birth, defert in fervice,
Love, friendship, charity, are fubjects all

To envious and calumniating time.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin;
That all, with one confent, praise new-born Gawds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things paft;
And give to duft, that is a little gilt, (16)
More laud than they will give to gold o'er-dufted:
The prefent eye praises the prefent object.
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion fooner catch the eye,
Than what not ftirs. The Cry went once for thee,
And ftill it might, and yet it may again,
If thou wouldst not entomb thyfelf alive,
And cafe thy reputation in thy tent;

Whofe glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made emulous miffions 'mongst the Gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil. Of my privacy

I have ftrong reafons.

Uly. 'Gainft your privacy

The reafons are more potent and heroical.

'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

With one of Priam's daughters.

Achil. Ha! known!

Uly. Is that a wonder?

The providence, that's in a watchful State,
Knows almost every grain of Pluic's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehenfive Deep;

Keeps place with thought; and almoft, like the Gods,
Does even our thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

(16) And go to duft, that is a little gilt,

More Laud than Gilt o'er-dufted.] In this mangled Condition do we find this truly fine Obfervation tranfmitted, in the old Folio's. Mr. Pope faw it was corrupt, and therefore, as I prefume, threw it out of the Text; because he would not indulge his private Senfe in attempting to make Senfe of it. I owe the Foundation of the Amendment, which I have given to the Text, to the Sagacity of the ingemious Dr. Thirlby.


There is a mystery (with which relation
Durft never meddle) in the Soul of State;
Which hath an operation more divine,
Than breath, or pen, can give expreffure 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,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.

But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When Fame fhall in his ifland found her trump;
And all the Greekish girls fhall tripping fing,
Great Hector's fifter did Achilles win;

But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewel, my Lord-I, as your lover, speak;

The fool flides o'er the ice, that you should break. [Exit.
Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you;
A woman, impudent and mannish grown,

Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of act.-I ftand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little ftomach to the war,
And your great love to me, reftrains you thus:
Sweet, roufe yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloofe his am'rous fold;
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be fhook to air.

Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector !-

Patr. Ay, and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. Achil. Ifee, my reputation is at ftake;

My fame is threwdly gor'd.

Patr. O then beware:

Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves:

Omiffion to do what is neceffary

Seals a Commiffion to a Blank of Danger;

And danger, like an ague, fubtly taints

Even then, when we fit idly in the Sun.

Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus:

I'll fend the fool to Ajax, and defire him
T'invite the Trojan Lords, after the Combat,

To fee us here unarm'd: I have a woman's Longing,
An appetite that I am fick withal,


To fee great Hector in the Weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his vifage,
Ev'n to my full of view.-A labour fav'd!
Enter Therfites.

Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himfelf.

Achil. How fo?

Ther. He must fight fingly to-morrow with Hector, and is fo prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in faying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

Ther. Why, he talks up and down like a peacock, a ftride and a ftand; ruminates like an hoftefs, that hath no arithmetick but her brain, to fet down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politick regard, as who fhould fay, there were wit in his head, if 'twou'd out; and fo there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not fhew without knocking. The man's undone for ever: for if Hector break not his neck i'th' combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, good-morrow, Ajax: and he replies, thanks, Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the General? he's grown a very land-fifh, language-lefs, a moniter. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both fides, like a leather Jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my ambaffador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who, I-why, he'll anfwer no body; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his prefence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you fhall fee the Pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus- -tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the moft valorous Heater to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure fafe Conduct for his Perfon of the magnanimous and moft illufirious, fix or seven times honour'd, captain general, of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this.


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