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

Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed in the praise.

 

Re-enter ULYSSES

 

AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads.

NESTOR. [Aside] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?

ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field tomorrow.

AGAMEMNON. What’s his excuse?

ULYSSES. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the stream of his dispose, Without observance or respect of any, In will peculiar and in self-admission.

AGAMEMNON. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his person and share the air with us?

ULYSSES. Things small as nothing, for request’s sake only, He makes important; possess’d he is with greatness, And speaks not to himself but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth Holds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse That ‘twixt his mental and his active parts Kingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself. What should I say?

He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it Cry ‘No recovery.’

AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.

‘Tis said he holds you well; and will be led At your request a little from himself.

ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!

We’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord That bastes his arrogance with his own seam And never suffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp’d Of that we hold an idol more than he?

No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d, Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is,

By going to Achilles.

That were to enlard his fat-already pride, And add more coals to Cancer when he burns With entertaining great Hyperion.

This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,

And say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’

NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.

DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his silence drinks up this applause!

AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.

AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go.

AJAX. An ‘a be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride.

Let me go to him.

ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow!

NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself!

AJAX. Can he not be sociable?

ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness.

AJAX. I’ll let his humours blood.

AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the patient.

AJAX. An all men were a my mind—

ULYSSES. [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion.

AJAX. ‘A should not bear it so, ‘a should eat’s words first.

Shall pride carry it?

NESTOR. [Aside] An ‘twould, you’d carry half.

ULYSSES. [Aside] ‘A would have ten shares.

AJAX. I will knead him, I’ll make him supple.

NESTOR. [Aside] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

NESTOR. Our noble general, do not do so.

DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

ULYSSES. Why ‘tis this naming of him does him harm.

Here is a man-but ‘tis before his face; I will be silent.

NESTOR. Wherefore should you so?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!

Would he were a Troyan!

NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax now-ULYSSES. If he were proud.

DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise.

ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne.

DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected.

ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck; Fam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition; But he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight-Let Mars divide eternity in twain

And give him half; and, for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield

To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor, Instructed by the antiquary times-He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax.

AJAX. Shall I call you father?

NESTOR. Ay, my good son.

DIOMEDES. Be rul’d by him, Lord Ajax.

ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war; Fresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow We must with all our main of power stand fast; And here’s a lord-come knights from east to west And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

AGAMEMNON. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep.

Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

Exeunt

 

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ACT III. SCENE 1.

Troy. PRIAM’S palace

 

Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT

 

PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris?

SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean?

SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him.

SERVANT. The lord be praised!

PANDARUS. You know me, do you not?

SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially.

PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.

SERVANT. I hope I shall know your honour better.

PANDARUS. I do desire it.

SERVANT. You are in the state of grace.

PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles.

What music is this?

SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.

PANDARUS. Know you the musicians?

SERVANT. Wholly, sir.

PANDARUS. Who play they to?

SERVANT. To the hearers, sir.

PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend?

SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.

PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend.

SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir?

PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am to courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

SERVANT. That’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love’s invisible soul-PANDARUS. Who, my cousin, Cressida?

SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?

PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes.

SERVANT. Sodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed!

 

Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company!

Fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them-especially to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your fair pillow.

HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music.

PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.

HELEN. He is full of harmony.

PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no.

HELEN. O, sir—

PANDARUS. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.

PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly-PANDARUS. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus-HELEN. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord-PANDARUS. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most affectionately to you-HELEN. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.

HELEN. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.

PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. -And, my lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

HELEN. My Lord Pandarus!

PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

PARIS. What exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?

HELEN. Nay, but, my lord-PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you.

HELEN. You must not know where he sups.

PARIS. I’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.

PARIS. Well, I’ll make’s excuse.

PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?

No, your poor disposer’s sick.

PARIS. I spy.

PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument.

Now, sweet queen.

HELEN. Why, this is kindly done.

PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.

HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

PANDARUS. He! No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain.

HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

PANDARUS. Come, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now.

HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may.

HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith.

PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings]

 

Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!

For, oh, love’s bow

Shoots buck and doe;

The shaft confounds

Not that it wounds,

But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry, O ho, they die!

Yet that which seems the wound to kill Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still.

O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!

O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho!

 

HELEN. In love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose.

PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s a-field today?

PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm’d to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?

HELEN. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.

PANDARUS. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend to-day. You’ll remember your brother’s excuse?

PARIS. To a hair.

PANDARUS. Farewell, sweet queen.

HELEN. Commend me to your niece.

PANDARUS.