The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare (book suggestions .TXT) 📗

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, with 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 ever step, Exampl’d 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 stands, not in her strength.

NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d The fever whereof all our power is sick.

AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy?

ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns 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 Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus Upon a lazy bed the livelong day

Breaks scurril jests;

And with ridiculous and awkward 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 hamstring, 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-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks ‘Tis like a chime amending; 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 drest to some oration.’

That’s done-as near as the extremest ends Of parallels, as like 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.

NESTOR. 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 As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war Bold as an oracle, and sets 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 soever rounded in with danger.

ULYSSES. They tax our policy and call it cowardice, Count wisdom as no member of the war, Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 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, closet-war; So that the ram that batters down the wall, For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the engine, Or those that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution.

NESTOR. Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse Makes many Thetis’ sons. [Tucket]

AGAMEMNON. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.

MENELAUS. From Troy.

 

Enter AENEAS

 

AGAMEMNON. What would you fore our tent?

AENEAS. Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?

AGAMEMNON. Even this.

AENEAS. May one that is a herald and a prince Do a fair message to his kingly eyes?

AGAMEMNON. With surety stronger than Achilles’ an Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general.

AENEAS. Fair leave and large security. How may A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals?

AGAMEMNON. How?

AENEAS. Ay;

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?

Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

AGAMEMNON. This Troyan scorns us, or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers.

AENEAS. 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, Aeneas, Peace, Troyan; lay thy finger on thy lips.

The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 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.

AGAMEMNON. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?

AENEAS. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

AGAMEMNON. What’s your affair, I pray you?

AENEAS. Sir, pardon; ‘tis for Agamemnon’s ears.

AGAMEMNON. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.

AENEAS. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him; I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,

To set his sense on the attentive bent, And then to speak.

AGAMEMNON. Speak frankly as the wind;

It is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.

That thou shalt know, Troyan, he is awake, He tells thee so himself.

AENEAS. Trumpet, blow loud,

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.

[Sound trumpet]

We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince called Hector-Priam is his father-Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!

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 Troyans 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 couple in his arms; And will tomorrow with his trumpet call Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy To rouse a Grecian that is true in love.

If any come, Hector shall honour him; If none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires, The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

AGAMEMNON. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.

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.

NESTOR. 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 mould 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 grandame, and as chaste As may be in the world. His youth in flood, I’ll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.

AENEAS. Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!

ULYSSES. Amen.

AGAMEMNON. Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand; To our pavilion shall I lead you, first.

Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.

Yourself shall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe.

Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR

ULYSSES. Nestor!

NESTOR. What says Ulysses?

ULYSSES. I have a young conception in my brain; Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

NESTOR. What is’t?

ULYSSES. This ‘tis:

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.

NESTOR. Well, and how?

ULYSSES. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

NESTOR. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance Whose grossness little characters sum up; 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 judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose Pointing on him.

ULYSSES. And wake him to the answer, think you?

NESTOR. Why, ‘tis most meet. Who may you else oppose That can from Hector bring those honours off, If not Achilles? Though ‘t be a sportful combat, Yet in this trial much opinion dwells; For here the Troyans taste our dear’st repute With their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly pois’d

In this vile 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 mas

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 a 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.

ULYSSES. 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, By showing the worst first. 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.

NESTOR. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they?

ULYSSES. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should wear with him; But he already is too insolent;

And it were better parch in Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d, Why, then we do our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry; And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves Give him allowance for the better 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