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 th’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.