himself, as it were to look for Ajax: he would be cried, for he has
lost himself; nay, he knows nobody; I said, "Good-morrow, Ajax," and
he replied, "Thanks, Agamemnon."

_Achil._ Thou shalt be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

_Thers._ No, I'll put on his person; let Patroclus make his demands to
me, and you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

_Achil._ To him, Patroclus; tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax
to invite the noble Hector to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for
him from our captain general Agamemnon.

_Patro._ Jove bless the mighty Ajax!

_Thers._ Humh!

_Patro._ I come from the great Achilles.

_Thers._ Ha!

_Patro._ Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent.

_Thers._ Humh!

_Patro._ And to procure him safe conduct from Agamemnon.

_Thers._ Agamemnon?

_Patro._ Ay, my lord.

_Thers._ Ha!

_Patro._ What say you to it?

_Thers._ Farewell, with all my heart.

_Patro._ Your answer, sir?

_Thers._ If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one
way or the other; however, he shall buy me dearly. Fare you well, with
all my heart.

_Achil._ Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

_Thers._ No; but he's thus out of tune. What music will be in him when
Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not, nor I care not; but if
emptiness makes noise, his head will make melody.

_Achil._ My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred; And I myself
see not the bottom on't.

_Thers._ Would the fountain of his mind were clear, that he might see
an ass in it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant
ignorance. [_Aside._

_Enter_ AGAMEMNON, AJAX, DIOMEDES, _and_ MENELAUS.

_Patro._ Look, who comes here.

_Achil._ Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody;--come in after me,
Thersites. [_Exeunt_ ACHILLES _and_ THERSITES.

_Again._ Where's Achilles?

_Patro._ Within, but ill disposed, my lord.

_Men._ We saw him at the opening of his tent.

_Again._ Let it be known to him, that we are here.

_Patro._ I shall say so to him. [_Exit_ PATROC.

_Diom._ I know he is not sick.

_Ajax._ Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may call it
melancholy, if you will humour him; but, on my honour, it is no more
than pride; and why should he be proud?

_Men._ Here comes Patroclus; but no Achilles with him.

_Enter_ PATROCLUS.

_Patro._ Achilles bids me tell y