Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin. 160 Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.
Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.
Cres. What was his answer?
Pan. Quoth she, 'Here's but two-and-fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.' Cres. This is her question.
Pan. That's true; make no question of that. 'Two-and-fifty hairs,' quoth he, and one white: that white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'which of these hairs is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he; 'pluck 't out, and give it him.' But there was such laughing, and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.
devil come to him, it's all one: by God's lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.
Look ye yonder, niece; is 't not a gallant man too, is 't not? Why, this is brave now. Who said he came hurt home to-day he's not hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon.
Pan. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus.
Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle?
Pan. Helenus? no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent
Cres. So let it now, for it has been a great well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark! do while going by.
you not hear the people cry 'Troilus'? Helenus
Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yester is a priest. day; think on 't.
Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? TROILUS passes over.
Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece! Hem! Brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry!
Cres. Peace! for shame, peace!
Pan. Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece: look you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector's; and how he looks, and how he goes. O admirable youth! he ne'er saw threeand-twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way! Had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.
Cres. Here come more.
Soldiers pass over.
and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand | To find persistive constancy in men: watches.
Pan. Say one of your watches.
Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past watching. Pan. You are such another!
The fineness of which metal is not found In fortune's love; for then the bold and coward The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin : But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass or matter, by itself Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
Nest. With due observance of thy god-like seat,
Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply you.
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infect the sound pine and divert his grain Tortive and errant from his course of growth. Nor, princes, is it matter new to us That we come short of our suppose so far That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand; Sith every action that hath gone before, Whereof we have record, trial did draw Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, And that unbodied figure of the thought That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works, And think them shames? which are indeed nought else
But the protractive trials of great Jove
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled, Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide In storms of fortune; forin her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, And flies fled under shade, why then, the thing of courage,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure! O! when degree is shak'd,
Which is the ladder to all high designs,
The enterprise is sick. How could communities, Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, The primogenitive and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark! what discord follows; each thing|
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong,
Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then every thing includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite; And appetite, an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree it is
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 fever Of pale and bloodless emulation:
And 'tis this fever 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 Ulysses here discover'd The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Ajam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy?
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested 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 dropp'd,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; Cries Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just. Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he being dress'd to some oration.' That's done; as near as the extremest ends Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife: Yet god Achilles still cries Excellent! 'Tis Nestor 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 palsy-fumbling on his gorget, Shake in and out the rivet 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, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, Success or loss, what is or is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. Nest. And in the imitation of these twain, Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice, many are infect. Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his head In such a rein, in full as proud a place
Of their observant toil the enemies' weight,Why, this hath not a finger's dignity.
Ulyss. The great Achilles, whom opinion They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war ;
The sinew and the forehand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
So that the ram that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the engine,
If there be one among the fair'st of Greece That holds his honour higher than his ease, That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear, That loves his mistress more than in confession, With truant vows to her own lips he loves, And dare avow her beauty and her worth In other arms than hers,-to him this challenge. Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; And will to morrow with his trumpet call, Midway between your tents and walls of Troy, To rouse a Grecian that is true in love: If any come, Hector shall honour him;
Ene. Fair leave and large security. How may If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires, A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other moitals? Agam. Ene. Ay;
The Grecian dames are sunburnt, and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus.
Which is that god in office, guiding men ? 230 Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending angels; that 's their fame in peace: But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas! Peace, Trojan! lay thy finger on thy lips. The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 240 If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth; But what the repining enemy commends, That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Eneas?
Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my name. Agam. What's your affair, I pray you?
Ene. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. Agam. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.
Ene. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper
Ene. Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; And every Greek of mettle, let him know, What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. Trumpet sounds.
Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Eneas;
If none of them have soul in such a kind, We left them all at home: but we are soldiers; And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, That means not, hath not, or is not in love! If then one is, or hath, or means to be, That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now; But if there be not in our Grecian host One noble man that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, tell him from me I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn; And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste As may be in the world: his youth in flood, I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of blood. Ene. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth! Ulyss. Amen.
Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain; Be you my time to bring it to some shape. Nest. What is 't?
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all.
Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince call'd Hector, Priam is his father, Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet, Whose grossness little characters sum up: And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords! | And, in the publication, make no strain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya, though, Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enough, will, with great speed of judg- ment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him.
Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat, Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute With their fin'st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd In this wild action; for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd He that meets Hector issues from our choice; And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, Makes merit her election, and doth boil, As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, What heart receives from hence the conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves? Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, In no less working than are swords and bows Directive by the limbs.
Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech: Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. Let us like merchants show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell; if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better. Do not consent That ever Hector and Achilles meet; For both our honour and our shame in this Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
Nest. I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should wear with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 370 Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd, Why then we did our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No; make a lottery; And by device let blockish Ajax draw The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves Give him allowance as the worthier man, For that will physic the great Myrmidon Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends. If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail, Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss, Our project's life this shape of sense assumes : Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. Nest. Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
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