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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

       That we have better men. But, hit or miss,

       Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes—

      

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