SCENE I.--_A Camp.

_Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, _and_ NESTOR.

_Agam._ Princes, it seems not strange to us, nor new, That, after nine years siege, Troy makes defence, Since every action of recorded fame Has with long difficulties been involved, Not answering that idea of the thought, Which gave it birth; why then, you Grecian chiefs, With sickly eyes do you behold our labours, And think them our dishonour, which indeed Are the protractive trials of the gods, To prove heroic constancy in men?

_Nest._ With due observance of thy sovereign seat, Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply Thy well-weighed words. In struggling with misfortunes Lies the true proof of virtue: On smooth seas, How many bauble-boats dare set their sails, And make an equal way with firmer vessels! But let the tempest once enrage that sea, And then behold the strong-ribbed argosie, Bounding between the ocean and the air, Like Perseus mounted on his Pegasus. Then where are those weak rivals of the main? Or, to avoid the tempest, fled to port, Or made a prey to Neptune. Even thus Do empty show, and true-prized worth, divide In storms of fortune.

_Ulys._ Mighty Agamemnon! Heart of our body, soul of our designs, In whom the tempers, and the minds of all Should be inclosed,--hear what Ulysses speaks.

_Agam._ You have free leave.

_Ulys._ Troy had been down ere this, and Hector's sword Wanted a master, but for our disorders: The observance due to rule has been neglected, Observe how many Grecian tents stand void Upon this plain, so many hollow factions: For, when the general is not like the hive, To whom the foragers should all repair, What honey can our empty combs expect? Or when supremacy of kings is shaken, What can succeed? How could communities, Or peaceful traffic from divided shores, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand on their solid base? Then every thing resolves to brutal force, And headlong force is led by hoodwinked will. For wild ambition, like a ravenous wolf, Spurred on by will, and seconded by power, Must make an universal prey of all, And last devour itself.

_Nest._ Most prudently Ulysses has discovered The malady, whereof our state is sick.

_Diom._ 'Tis truth he speaks; the general's disdained By him one step beneath, he by the next; That next by him below: So each degree Spurns upward at superior eminence. Thus our distempers are their sole support; Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

_Agam._ The nature of this sickness found, inform us From whence it draws its birth?

_Ulys._ The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The chief of all our host, Having his ears buzzed with his noisy fame, Disdains thy sovereign charge, and in his tent Lies, mocking our designs; with him Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed, breaks scurril jests, And with ridiculous and aukward action, Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, Mimics the Grecian chiefs.

_Agam._ As how, Ulysses?

_Ulys._ Even thee, the king of men, he does not spare, (The monkey author) but thy greatness pageants, And makes of it rehearsals: like a player, Bellowing his passion till he break the spring, And his racked voice jar to his audience; So represents he thee, though more unlike Than Vulcan is to Venus. And at this fulsome stuff,--the wit of apes,-- The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling, From his deep chest roars out a loud applause, Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze.

_Nest._ Nor are you spared, Ulysses; but, as you speak in council, He hems ere he begins, then strokes his beard, Casts down his looks, and winks with half an eye; Has every action, cadence, motion, tone, All of you but the sense.

_Agam._ Fortune was merry When he was born, and played a trick on nature, To make a mimic prince; he ne'er acts ill, But when he would seem wise: For all he says or does, from serious thought, Appears so wretched, that he mocks his title, And is his own buffoon.

_Ulys._ In imitation of this scurril fool, Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles. He keeps a table too, makes factious feasts, Rails on our state of war, and sets Thersites (A slanderous slave of an o'erflowing gall) To level us with low comparisons. They tax our policy with cowardice, Count wisdom of no moment in the war, In brief, esteem no act, but that of hand; The still and thoughtful parts, which move those hands, With them are but the tasks cut out by fear, To be performed by valour.

_Agam._ Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Is more of use than he; but you, grave pair, Like Time and Wisdom marching hand in hand, Must put a stop to these encroaching ills: To you we leave the care; You, who could show whence the distemper springs, Must vindicate the dignity of kings. [_Exeunt._