TROILUS & CRESSIDA. William Shakespeare

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       AGAMEMNON. 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.

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