Two Curs fhall tame each other; Pride alone
Muft tar the Maftiffs on, as 'twere their Bone.

ACT II. SCENE I.

SCENE the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Therfites.

Ajax. THerfites.

Ther. Agamemnon

full, all over generally..

Ajax. Therfites.

[Exeunt.

-how if he had Biles

[Talking to himfelf.

Ther. And thofe Biles did run-fay fo---did not the General run, were not that a Botchy core?

Ajax. Dog.

Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him: I Lee none now.

Ajax. Thou Bitch-Wolf's Son, canft thou not hear? Feel then,

[Strikes him. Ther. The Plague of Greece upon thee, thou Mungrel beef-witted Lord.

Ajax. Speak then, you whinid'ft leaven, speak, I will beat thee into handfomnefs.

Ther. I fhall fooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy Horfe will fooner con an Oration, than thou learn a Prayer without Book: Thou canft ftrike, canft thou? A red Murrain o'thy Jades tricks.

Ajax. Toads-ftool, learn me the Proclamation.

Ther. Doeft thou think I have no fenfe, thou ftrik'st me Ajax. The Proclamation.

Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a Fool, I think.

[thus?

Ajax. Do not Porcupine, do not; my Fingers itch.

Ther. I would thou didft itch from Head to Foot, and I had the ferarching of thee, I would make thee the loathfom'ft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the Proclamation.

Ther. Thou grumbleft and raileft every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatnefs, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's Beauty. I, that thou bark'ft at him.

Ajax. Cobloaf.

Ther. He would pun thee into Shivers with his Fift, as a

Sailor breaks a Bisket.

Ajax. You whorfon Cur.

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou ftool for a Witch,

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, thou fodden-witted Lord; thou haft no more Brain than I have in my Elbows: An Afinico may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant Afs, thou art here but to thresh Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian Slave. If thou ufe to beat me, I will begin at thy Heel, and tell what thou art by Inches, thou thing of no Bowels, thou.

Ajax. You Dog.

Ther. You fcurvy Lord.

Ajax. You Cur.

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his Idiot; do Rudeness, do Camel, do, do.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this? How now, Therfites? what's the matter, Man?

Ther. You fee him there, do you?

chil. Ay, what's the Matter?

Ther. Nay look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for whofoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, Fool.

Ther. Ay, but that Fool knows not himfelf.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters, his Evafions have Ears thus long. I have bob'd his Brain more than he has beat my Bones: I will buy nine Sparrows for a Penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth Part of a Sparrow. This Lord (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his Belly, and his Guts in his Head, I'll tell you what I fay of him.

Achil

Achil. What? [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will ftop the Eye of Helen's Needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, Fool.

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the Fool will not: he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd Cur, I fhall

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a Fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you, for a Fool's will fhame it.
Pat. Good Words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the Quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile Owl, go learn me the tenure of the Proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft Service was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary, no Man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an Imprefs.

Ther. E'en fo--a great deal of your Wit too lies in your Sinews, or elfe there be Liars: Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your Brains, he were as good crack a fully Nut with no Kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, whofe Wit was mouldy e'er their Grandfires had Nails on their Toes, yoke you like draft Oxen, and make you plough up the wair. Achil. What! what!

Ther. Yes, good footh, to Achilles, to Ajax, to
Ajax. I fhall cut out your Tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I fhall fpeak as much as thou afterwards.

Pa'. No more Words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles Brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like Clotpoles, e'er I come any more to your Tents, I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the Faction of Fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft, That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun, Will with a Trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy, To Morrow morning call fome Knight to Arms, That hath a Stomach, and fuchia one that dare Maintain I know not what: 'Tis trafh, farewel. Ajax. Farewel! who fhall anfwer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to Lott'ry; otherwife He knew his Man.

Ajax. O, meaning you, I will go learn more of it. [Exit.

SCENE II. Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.
Pri. After fo many Hours, Lives, Speeches fpent,
Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks,
Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As Honour, lofs of Time, Travel, Expence,
Wounds, Friends, and what else dear, that is confum'd
In not digeftion of this Cormorant War)

Shall be truck off. Hector, what fay you to't?

Hect. Though no Man leffer fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular; yet, dread Priam,
There is no Lady of more fofter Bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fenfe of fear,
More ready to cry out, Who knows what follows,
Than Hector is; the wound of Peace is furety,
Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd
The Beacon of the wife; the Tent that fearches
To th' bottom of the worft. Let Helen go.
Since the first Sword was drawn about this Question,
Every Tithe Soul 'mongst many thousand difmes,
Hath been as dear as Helen, I mean of ours:
If we have loft fo many Tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us
(Had it our Name) the value of one ten;

What

What merit's in that reafon, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi. Fie, fie, my Brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great is our dread Father) in a Scale

Of common Ounces? Will you with Counters fum
The vaft proportion of his Infinite?

And buckle in a waste, most fathomlefs,
With Spans and Inches fo diminutive,

As Fears and Reafons? Fie for godly fhame.

Hel. No marvel, tho' you bite fo fharp at Reafons,
You are empty of them. Should not our Father
Bear the great fway of his Affairs with Reafons,
Because your Speech hath none that tells him fo?
Troi. You are for Dreams and Slumbers, Brother Prieft,
You fur your Gloves with Reafon: Here are your Reafons,
You know an Enemy intends you harm:

You know, a Sword imploy'd is perillous,
And Reafon flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his Sword, if he do fet
The very wings of Reason to his He ls:

Or like a Star diforb'd.Nay, if we talk of Reason,
And flie like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Let's hut our Gates and fleep: Manhood and Honour
Should have hard Hearts, would they but fat their Thoughts
With this cram'd Reafon: Reafon and Respect
Make Lovers pale, and luftyhood deject.

Helt. Brother, the is not worth

What he doth coft the holding.

Troi. What's ought, but as 'tis valu'd?

Hect. But value dwells not in particular Will,

It holds his Eftimate and Dignity,

As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,
As in the prizer: 'Tis made Idolatry,
To make the Service greater than the God;
And the will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously it felf affects,
Without fome Image of th' affected Merit.