Complete Plays, The
Page 80
Agamemnon
Let it be known to him that we are here.
He shent our messengers; and we lay by
Our appertainments, visiting of him:
Let him be told so; lest perchance he think
We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.
Patroclus
I shall say so to him.
Exit
Ulysses
We saw him at the opening of his tent:
He is not sick.
Ajax
Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride: but why, why? let him show us the cause. A word, my lord.
Takes Agamemnon aside
Nestor
What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
Ulysses
Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
Nestor
Who, Thersites?
Ulysses
He.
Nestor
Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.
Ulysses
No, you see, he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.
Nestor
All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction: but it was a strong composure a fool could disunite.
Ulysses
The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus.
Re-enter Patroclus
Nestor
No Achilles with him.
Ulysses
The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
Patroclus
Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatness and this noble state
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other
But for your health and your digestion sake,
And after-dinner’s breath.
Agamemnon
Hear you, Patroclus:
We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his virtues,
Not virtuously on his own part beheld,
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss,
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin,
If you do say we think him over-proud
And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And underwrite in an observing kind
His humorous predominance; yea, watch
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
That if he overhold his price so much,
We’ll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report:
‘Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a sleeping giant.’ Tell him so.
Patroclus
I shall; and bring his answer presently.
Exit
Agamemnon
In second voice we’ll not be satisfied;
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.
Exit Ulysses
Ajax
What is he more than another?
Agamemnon
No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax
Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am?
Agamemnon
No question.
Ajax
Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is?
Agamemnon
No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.
Ajax
Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is.
Agamemnon
Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Ajax
I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.
Nestor
Yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?
Aside
Re-enter Ulysses
Ulysses
Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Agamemnon
What’s his excuse?
Ulysses
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.
Agamemnon
Why will he not upon our fair request
Untent his person and share the air with us?
Ulysses
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
That quarrels at self-breath: imagined worth
Holds in his blood such swoln 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.’
Agamemnon
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.
Ulysses
O Agamemnon, 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 revolve
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 acquired;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,
By going to Achilles:
That were to enlard his fat already pride
And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
And say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’
Nestor
[Aside to Diomedes] O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.
Diomedes
[Aside to Nestor] And how his silence drinks up this applause!
Ajax
If I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.
Agamemnon
O, no, you shall not go.
Ajax
An a’ be proud with me, I’ll pheeze his pride:
Let me go to him.
Ulysses
Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax
A paltry, insolent fellow!
Nestor
How he describes himself!
Ajax
Can he not be sociable?
Ulysses
The raven chides blackness.
Ajax
I’ll let his humours blood.
Agamemnon
He will be the physician that should be the patient.
Ajax
An all men were o’ my mind,—
Ulysses
Wit would be out of fashion.
Ajax
A’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat swords first: shall pride carry it?
Nestor
An ’twould, you’ld carry half.
Ulysses
A’ would have ten shares.
Ajax
I will knead him; I’ll make him supple.
Nestor
He’s not yet through warm: force him with praises: pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
Ulysses
[To Agamemnon] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Nestor
Our noble general, do not do so.
Diomedes
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Ulysses
Why, ’tis this naming of him does him harm.
Here is a man — but ’tis before his face;
I will be silent.
Nestor
Wherefore should you so?
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Ulysses
Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Ajax
A whoreson dog, that shall pelter thus with us!
Would he were a Trojan!
Nestor
What a vice were it in Ajax now,—
Ulysses
If he were proud,—
Diomedes
Or covetous of praise,—
Ulysses
Ay, or surly borne,—
Diomedes
Or strange, or self-affected!
Ulysses
Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice famed, beyond all erudition:
But he that disciplined thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and, for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts: here’s Nestor;
Instructed by the antiquary times,
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise:
Put pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.
Ajax
Shall I call you father?
Nestor
Ay, my good son.
Diomedes
Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.
Ulysses
There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war;
Fresh kings are come to Troy: to-morrow
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here’s a lord,— come knights from east to west,
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
Agamemnon
Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
Exeunt
ACT III
SCENE I. TROY. PRIAM’S PALACE.
Enter a Servant and Pandarus
Pandarus
Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow the young Lord Paris?
Servant
Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pandarus
You depend upon him, I mean?
Servant
Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
Pandarus
You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs praise him.
Servant
The lord be praised!
Pandarus
You know me, do you not?
Servant
Faith, sir, superficially.
Pandarus
Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.
Servant
I hope I shall know your honour better.
Pandarus
I do desire it.
Servant
You are in the state of grace.
Pandarus
Grace! not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles.
Music within
What music is this?
Servant
I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.
Pandarus
Know you the musicians?
Servant
Wholly, sir.
Pandarus
Who play they to?
Servant
To the hearers, sir.
Pandarus
At whose pleasure, friend
Servant
At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
Pandarus
Command, I mean, friend.
Servant
Who shall I command, sir?
Pandarus
Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?
Servant
That’s to ’t indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who’s there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love’s invisible soul,—
Pandarus
Who, my cousin Cressida?
Servant
No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her attributes?
Pandarus
It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.
Servant
Sodden business! there’s a stewed phrase indeed!
Enter Paris and Helen, attended
Pandarus
Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!
Helen
Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pandarus
You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music.
Paris
You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.
Pandarus
Truly, lady, no.
Helen
O, sir,—
Pandarus
Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Paris
Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.
Pandarus
I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?
Helen
Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we’ll hear you sing, certainly.
Pandarus
Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus,—
Helen
My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,—
Pandarus
Go to, sweet queen, to go:— commends himself most affectionately to you,—
Helen
You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do, our melancholy upon your head!
Pandarus
Sweet queen, sweet queen! that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.
Helen
And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
Pandarus
Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. And, my lord, he desires you, that if the king call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.
Helen
>
My Lord Pandarus,—
Pandarus
What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
Paris
What exploit’s in hand? where sups he to-night?
Helen
Nay, but, my lord,—
Pandarus
What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where he sups.
Paris
I’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
Pandarus
No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your disposer is sick.
Paris
Well, I’ll make excuse.
Pandarus
Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no, your poor disposer’s sick.
Paris
I spy.
Pandarus
You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen.
Helen
Why, this is kindly done.
Pandarus
My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.
Helen
She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.
Pandarus
He! no, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.
Helen
Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
Pandarus
Come, come, I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.
Helen
Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.
Pandarus
Ay, you may, you may.
Helen
Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Pandarus
Love! ay, that it shall, i’ faith.
Paris
Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pandarus
In good troth, it begins so.
Sings
Love, love, nothing but love, still more!
For, O, love’s bow
Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds,
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.
These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!
Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
So dying love lives still:
Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
Heigh-ho!
Helen
In love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.
Paris
He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.
Pandarus
Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers: is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s a-field to-day?
Paris
Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?
Helen