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 a-mending; with terms unsquared, 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 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. 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, mappery, closet-war;
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, 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.
A 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 ears? AGAMEMNON With surety stronger than Achilles' arm '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 Trojan 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, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth, If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends, That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure, 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 naught privately that comes from Troy. AENEAS 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. AGAMEMNON 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. 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.
