Part 17

Nestor. Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

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

Aiax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus! Would he were a Troian!

Nestor. What a vice were it in Aiax now-

Vlyſ. If he were proud.

Diom. Or covetous of praise.

Vlyſ. Ay, or surly borne.

Diom. Or strange, or self-affected.

Vlyſ. 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 Aiax. 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 Aiax’ and your brain so temper’d, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Aiax.

Aiax. Shall I call you father?

Nestor. Ay, my good son.

Diom. Be rul’d by him, Lord Aiax.

Vlyſ. 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. To-morrow 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, Aiax shall cope the best.

Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep. Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. Exeunt

Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant

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

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

Pan. You depend upon him, I mean?

Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

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

Ser. The lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, sir, superficially.

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

Ser. I hope I shall know your honour better.

Pan. I do desire it.

Ser. You are in the state of grace.

Pan. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is this?