In most accepted pain.
You have a Trojan prisoner called Antenor,
captured yesterday; Troy values him very highly.
You have frequently–and so I have frequently thanked you–
asked to exchange some great prisoner for my Cressida,
but Troy has always refused; but this Antenor,
I know, is so important to their business
that all their plans will go astray
if he's not there to manage them; and they would almost
give us a blood Prince, a son of Priam,
in exchange for him. Send him to them, great Princes,
and that will get my daughter; and having her here
will pay in full for all the trouble I have taken
on your behalf.
AGAMEMNON.
Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
Furnish you fairly for this interchange;
Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow
Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.
Let Diomedes take him there,
and bring Cressida here to us. Calchas shall have
what he asks for. Good Diomedes,
get everything ready for this the exchange;
also, bring news of whether Hector will
accept an answer to his challenge tomorrow. Ajax is ready.
DIOMEDES.
This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
Which I am proud to bear.
I shall do this; and I'm proud
to carry out the task.
Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS
ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent
ULYSSES.
Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent.
Please it our general pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him.
I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him?
If so, I have derision med'cinable
To use between your strangeness and his pride,
Which his own will shall have desire to drink.
It may do good. Pride hath no other glass
To show itself but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
Achilles is standing at the entrance of his tent.
I think our general should ignore him as he passes,
as if he had forgotten about him; and, all you princes,
show that you don't pay him any mind.
I'll bring up the rear. He'll probably ask me
why he is getting such disapproving looks.
If he does I'll be able to tell him
the reason for it,
and he'll be so keen to hear about himself that he will listen.
It may do good. If he sees his own pride
reflected in you it might make him think; bowing the knee to him
will only feed his arrogance, it's what proud men like.
AGAMEMNON.
We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along.
So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
We'll carry out your plan, and pretend
not to see him as we pass by.
All of you do this; either don't greet him,
or greet him scornfully, which will disturb him more
than being ignored. I will lead the way.
ACHILLES.
What comes the general to speak with me?
You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
Why has the general come to speak to me?
You know what I think. I won't fight against Troy any more.
AGAMEMNON.
What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?
What's Achilles saying? Does he want something?
NESTOR.
Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
Is there something you want, my lord, with the general?
ACHILLES.
No.
No.
NESTOR.
Nothing, my lord.
Nothing, my lord.
AGAMEMNON.
The better.
That's good then.
Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR
ACHILLES.
Good day, good day.
Good day, good day.
MENELAUS.
How do you? How do you?
How are you? How are you?
Exit
ACHILLES.
What, does the cuckold scorn me?
What, is that cuckold scorning me?
AJAX.
How now, Patroclus?
How are you, Patroclus?
ACHILLES.
Good morrow, Ajax.
Good day, Ajax.
AJAX.
Ha?
Hmm?
ACHILLES.
Good morrow.
Good day.
AJAX.
Ay, and good next day too.
Yes, I expect tomorrow will be a good day as well.
Exit
ACHILLES.
What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?
What are these fellows up to? Don't they recognise Achilles?
PATROCLUS.
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
To holy altars.
They pass by in a strange way. They used to bow,
to put on a smile as they approached Achilles,
to come as humbly as if they were approaching
a holy altar.
ACHILLES.
What, am I poor of late?
'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n 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
That are without him, as place, riches, and favour,
Prizes of accident, as oft as merit;
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess
Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his reading.
How now, Ulysses!
What, have I become a poor man?
It's certain that when a great man is out of luck
his friends soon desert him. When a man has fallen
he will know it as much from looking in the eyes of others
as he will from his own feelings; for men are like butterflies,
they don't show their powdered wings except in summer;
and no man gets any honour just for being a man,
he only gets honour for those honours which are
visible, like rank, riches and favour,
which are got by luck as often as by merit;
when they fall, for they have weak foundations,
the love that depended on them proves just as weak,
they both fall together, and they both
die in the fall. But I'm not like that:
Fortu
ne favours me; I still have all
the great things that I had before,
apart from these men's glances; I think they
think that there is something about me which makes me
not as worth acknowledging as previously. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his reading.
Hello there, Ulysses!
ULYSSES.
Now, great Thetis' son!
Well then, great son of Thetis!
ACHILLES.
What are you reading?
What are you reading?
ULYSSES.
A strange fellow here
Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted,
How much in having, or without or in-
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.
This strange fellow
writes that a man–however good his attributes,
however much he has, inside or out–
can only measure what he has,
or enjoy what he owns, in the reflection of others;
his virtue shines on others
and heats them, and they give that heat back again
to the one who first gave it.
ACHILLES.
This is not strange, Ulysses.
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 spirit of sense-behold itself,
Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed
Salutes each other with each other's form;
For speculation turns not to itself
Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there
Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.
That's not strange, Ulysses.
A man cannot know the beauty
of his own face, he sees it
through the eyes of others; nor can the eye itself–
the most perfect all the senses–see itself,
it can't turn in on itself; but eyes that look at each other
greet each other with their own beauty;
sight cannot see itself
until it has gone out and found a mirror
where it can be reflected. This is not strange at all.
ULYSSES.
I do not strain at the position-
It is familiar-but at the author's drift;
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves
That no man is the lord of anything,
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
Till he behold them formed in th' applause
Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
And apprehended here immediately
Th' 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-
An act that very chance doth throw upon him-
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish Fortune's-hall,
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.
I'm not arguing with the point–
it's well known–but with the author's conclusions,
because in his explanation he clearly argues
that no man is the lord of anything,
however good he is in and of himself,
until he has shown his good qualities to others;
nor can he himself value them
until he sees them applauded
when he uses them–it's like an arch
echoing with your voice, or like a steel gate
facing the sun, which receives and sends back
his light and heat. I was very taken with this,
and saw immediately that it applied
to the unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man he is!
He's like a horse that doesn't know his own strength.
Nature, how many things there are
that are thought of as worthless but are valuable in practice!
And how many things are there that people value
which are actually worthless! Now tomorrow we shall see
something happening that chance has thrown his way.
Ajax famous? O heavens, look at what some men do,
while others don't do what they should!
Some men go to beg changeable fortune,
while others throw away what she has given!
Look how one man can steal another's glory,
while the proud man is starving himself of it through arrogance!
Look at these Greek lords! Why, even now
they clap the idiot lout Ajax on the shoulder,
as if he had already got brave Hector under his heel,
and all of great Troy was terrified.
ACHILLES.
I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me
Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?
I can believe it; for they passed me by
like misers walking past beggars–they didn't give me either
good words or kind looks. What, have my deeds been forgotten?
ULYSSES.
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
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. Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow -
Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,
For emulation hath a thousand sons
That one by one pursue; if you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by
And leave you hindmost;
Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present,
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
For Time is like a fashionable host,
That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand;
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating Time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin-
That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
/> Though they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
The present eye praises the present object.
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive
And case thy reputation in thy tent,
Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.
Time, my lord, has a bag on his back,
in which he puts gifts for forgetfulness,
which is a huge ungrateful monster.
These scraps are the good deeds of the past, which are devoured
as quickly as they are made, forgotten as soon
as they are done. Perseverance, my dear lord,
is what keeps honour bright. To have done something makes you
most unfashionable, like a rusty suit of armour,
a forgotten trophy. Keep marching onwards;
glory goes along such a narrow path
that only one can walk itat a time. So stick to the path,
because jealous rivalry has a thousand sons,
following in single file; if you give way,
or step aside from the straight path,
they'll rush by you like a tide
and leave you in last place;
or, like a brave horse that fell in the front rank,
you'll lie there as a stepping stone for the cowardly followers,
overrun and trampled on. Then what they do in the present,
though it's less than what you did in the past, beats you;
for time is like a fashionable host
who gives his parting guest a quick handshake,
and hugs the newcomer with his arms outstretched as if
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 669