TROILUS & CRESSIDA. William Shakespeare

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       Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,

       And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek

       Remuneration for the thing it was;

       For beauty, wit,

       High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,

       Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

       To envious and calumniating Time.

       One touch of nature makes the whole world kin—

       That all with one consent praise newborn gawds,

       Though they are made and moulded of things past,

       And give to dust that is a little gilt

       More laud than gilt o’er-dusted.

       The present eye praises the present object.

       Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,

       That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,

       Since things in motion sooner catch the eye

       Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,

       And still it might, and yet it may again,

       If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive

       And case thy reputation in thy tent,

       Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late

       Made emulous missions ‘mongst the gods themselves,

       And drave great Mars to faction.

       ACHILLES.

       Of this my privacy

       I have strong reasons.

       ULYSSES.

       But ‘gainst your privacy

       The reasons are more potent and heroical.

       ‘Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

       With one of Priam’s daughters.

       ACHILLES.

       Ha! known!

       ULYSSES.

       Is that a wonder?

       The providence that’s in a watchful state

       Knows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold;

       Finds bottom in th’ uncomprehensive deeps;

       Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,

       Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

       There is a mystery—with whom relation

       Durst never meddle—in the soul of state,

       Which hath an operation more divine

       Than breath or pen can give expressure to.

       All the commerce that you have had with Troy

       As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;

       And better would it fit Achilles much

       To throw down Hector than Polyxena.

       But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,

       When fame shall in our island sound her trump,

       And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing

       ‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win;

       But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’

       Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.

       The fool slides o’er the ice that you should break.

       [Exit.]

       PATROCLUS.

       To this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.

       A woman impudent and mannish grown

       Is not more loath’d than an effeminate man

       In time of action. I stand condemn’d for this;

       They think my little stomach to the war

       And your great love to me restrains you thus.

       Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid

       Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,

       And, like a dewdrop from the lion’s mane,

       Be shook to airy air.

       ACHILLES.

       Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

       PATROCLUS.

       Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.

       ACHILLES.

       I see my reputation is at stake;

       My fame is shrewdly gor’d.

       PATROCLUS.

       O, then, beware:

       Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves;

       Omission to do what is necessary

       Seals a commission to a blank of danger;

       And danger, like an ague, subtly taints

       Even then when they sit idly in the sun.

       ACHILLES.

       Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.

       I’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him

       T’ invite the Troyan lords, after the combat,

       To see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing,

       An appetite that I am sick withal,

       To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;

       To talk with him, and to behold his visage,

       Even to my full of view.

       [Enter THERSITES.]

       A labour sav’d!

       THERSITES.

       A wonder!

       ACHILLES.

       What?

       THERSITES.

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