Divide thy Lips; than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff Jaws,
We shall hear Musick, Wit, and Oracle.
Ulyf. Troy, yet upon her Basis, had been down,
And the great Heftor's Sword had lack'd a Master,
But for these instances.
The speciality of Rule hath been neglected;
And look how many Grecian Tents do sland
Hollow upon this Plain, so many hollow Factions.
When that the General is not like the Hive,
To whom the Foragers shall all repair,
What Hony is expected? Degree being vizarded,
Th' unworthiest shews as fairly in the Mask.
The Heav'ns themselves, the Planets, and this Center,
Obferve degree, priority and place,
Infisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office and custom, in all line of Order:
And therefore is the glorious Planet Sol,
In noble Eminence, enthron'd and sphear'd
Amidst the other, whose medicinable Eye
Corrects the ill Aspects of Planets evil,
And posts like the Command'ment of a King,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the Planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What Plagues, and what Portents, what Mutiny?
What raging of the Sea? shaking of Earth?
Commotion in the Winds? Frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
The unity, and married calm of States
Quite from their fixure? O, when Degree is shaken,
(Which is the Ladder to all high Designs)
The Enterprize is fick. How could Communities,
Degrees in Schools, and Brotherhoods in Cities,
Peaceful Commerce from dividable Shores,
Prerogative of Age, Crowns, Scepters, Lawrels,
(But by Degree) stand in Authentick Place ?
Take but degree away, untune that String,
And hark what Discord follows; each thing meets
In meer oppugnancy. The bounded Waters
Would lift their Bosoms higher than the Shores,
And make a fop of all this folid Globe:
Strength would be Lord of Imbecility,
And the rude Son would strike his Father dead:
Force would be Right; or rather, Right and Wrong
(Between whose endless jar Justice refides)
Would lose their Names, and so would Juftice too.
Then every thing includes it felf in Power,
Power into Will, Will into Appetice,
And Appetite (an universal Wolf,
So doubly seconded with Will and Power)
Muft make perforce an universal prey,
And last, eat up himself.
Great Agamemnon,
This Chaos, when Degree is suffocate,
Follows the choaking:
And this neglection of Degree is it,
That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose
It hath to climb. The General's disdain'd
By him one step below; he by the next;
That next by him beneath: So every step,
Exampled by the first pace, that is sick
Of his Superior, grows to an envious Feaver
Of pale and bloodless Emulation.
And 'tis this Feaver that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own Sinews. To end a Tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.
Nest. Most wisely hath Ulyffes here discover'd
The Feaver, whereof all our Power is fick.
Aga. The Nature of the sickness found, Ulyffes, What is the Remedy ?
Ulys. The great Achilles, whom Opinion crowns The Sinew, and the Fore-hand of our Host, Having his Ear full of his airy Fame, Grows dainty of his Worth, and in his Tent Lies mocking our Designs. With him Patroclus,
Upon a lazy Bed, the live-long day
Breaks scurril Jests;
And with ridiculous and aukward Action,
(Which, Slanderer, he imitation calls)
He Pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless Deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting Player, whose Conceit
Lies in his Ham-string, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden Dialogue and Sound
Twixt his stretch'd footing, and the Scaffoldage,
(Such to-be-pitied, and o'er-rested seeming
He acts thy Greatness in) and when he speaks,
'Tis like a Chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd;
Which from the Tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would seem Hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his prest-bed lolling,
From his deep Chest, laughs out a loud Applause:
Cries excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor-hum, and stroke thy Beard
As he, being drest to some Oration:
That's done; as near as the extreamest Ends
Of Parallels; as like as Vulcan and his Wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent!
'Tis Neftor right! Now play him, me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a Night-alarm
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of Age
Must be the Scene of Mirth, to cough and spit,
And with a Palfie fumbling on his Gorget,
Shake in and out the River and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries, O! - enough Patroclus
Or, give me Ribs of Steel, I shall split all
In pleasure of my Spleen. And in this fashion
All our Abilities, Gifts, Natures, Shapes,
Severals and generals of Grace exact,
Atchievements, Plots, Orders, Preventions,
Excitements to the Field, or speech for Truce,
Succefs or Lofs, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two, to make Paradoxes,
Neft. And in the Imitation of these twain,
Who, as Viysses says, Opinion crowns
With an Imperial Voice, many are infect:
Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his Head,
In fuch a Rein, is full as proud a place,
As broad Achilles, and keeps his Tent like him;
Makes factious Feasts, rails on our state of War,
Bold as an Oracle, and fets Thersites
A Slave (whose Gall coins Slanders like a Mint)
To match us in Comparisons with Dirt,
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank foever rounded in with danger.
Ulys. They tax our Policy, and call it Cowardife,
Count Wisdom as no Member of the War,
Fore-itall our Prescience, and esteem no A&,
But that of Hand: The still and mental Parts,
That do contrive how many Hands shall strike
When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
Of their observant Toil, the Enemies weight,
Why this hath not a Finger's dignity;
They call this Bed-work, Mapp'ry, Closer-War:
So that the Ram, that batters down the Wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his Hand that made the Engine,
Or those that with the fineness of their Souls,
By Reason guide his Execution.
Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles Horse
Makes many Thetis' Sons.
Aga. What Trumpet ? Look Menelaus.
Aga. What would you 'fore our Tent?
Æne. Is this great Agamemnon's Tent, I pray you?
Æne. May one that is a Herald and a Prince,
Do a fair Message to his Kingly Ears?
Aga. With furety stronger than Achilles Arm,
'Fore all the Greekish Heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon Head and General.
Æne. Fair leave, and large security.
A ftranger to those most Imperial Looks,
Know them from Eyes of other Mortals?
Aga. How?
Æne. Ay: I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And on the Cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as Morning, when the coldly eyes
The youthful Phœbus:
Which is that God in Office, guiding Men ?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ?
Aga. This Trojan scorns us, or the Men of Troy Are ceremonious Courtiers.
Æne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending Angels; that's their Fame, in peace: But when they would feem Soldiers, they have Galls, Good Arms, strong Joints, true Swords, and Jove's accord, Nothing fo full of Heart. But peace, Eneas, Peace Trojan, lay thy Finger on thy Lips, The worthiness of Praise distains his worth, If that he prais'd himself, bring the Praise forth : What the repining Enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that Praise sole pure transcends. Aga. Sir, you of Troy, call you your felf, Eneas ?
Æne. Ay, Greek, that is my Name.
Aga. What's your Affair, I pray you?
Æne. Sir, pardon, 'tis for Agamemnon's Ears.
Aga. He hears nought privately
That comes from Troy.
Æne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him,
I bring a Trumpet to awake his Ear,
To set his Sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Aga. Speak frankly as the Wind,
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour;
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.
Ane. Trumpet blow loud:
Send thy brass Voice thro' all these lazy Tents,
And every Greek of Mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy,
A Prince call'd Hector, Priam is his Father:
Who in this dull and long continu'd Truce
Is rusty grown, he bad me take a Trumpet,
And to this purpose speak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his Honour higher than his Eafe,
That feeks his Praise, more than he fears his Peril,
That knows his Valour, and knows not his Fear,
That loves his Mistress more than in Confeffion,
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