ou, he is sorry
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move you to this visit: He's not well,
And begs you would excuse him, as unfit
For present business.

_Agam._ How! how's this, Patroclus?
We are too well acquainted with these answers.
Though he has much desert, yet all his virtues
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss.
We came to speak with him; you shall not err,
If you return, we think him over-proud,
And under-honest. Tell him this; and add,
That if he overhold his price so much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie lag of all the camp.
A stirring dwarf is of more use to us,
Than is a sleeping giant: tell him so.

_Patro._ I shall, and bring his answer presently.

_Agam._ I'll not be satisfied, but by himself:
So tell him, Menelaus. [_Exeunt_ MENELAUS _and_ PATROCLUS.

_Ajax._ What's he more than another?

_Agam._ No more than what he thinks himself.

_Ajax._ Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks himself a better
man than me?

_Diom._ No doubt he does.

_Ajax._ Do you think so?

_Agam._ No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant but much more
courteous.

_Ajax._ Why should a man be proud? I know not what pride is; I hate a
proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

_Diom._ [_Aside._] 'Tis strange he should, and love himself so well.

_Re-enter_ MENELAUS.

_Men._ Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

_Agam._ What's his excuse?

_Men._ Why, he relies on none
But his own will; possessed he is with vanity.
What should I say? he is so plaguy proud,
That the death-tokens of it are upon him,
And bode there's no recovery.

_Enter_ ULYSSES _and_ NESTOR.

_Agam._ Let Ajax go to him.

_Ulys._ O Agamemnon, let it not be so.
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles. Shall that proud man
Be worshipped by a greater than himself,
One, whom we hold our idol?
Shall Ajax go to him? No, Jove forbid,
And say in thunder, go to him, Achilles.

_Nest._ [_Aside._] O, this is well; he rubs him where it itches.

_Ajax._ If I go to him, with my gauntlet clenched I'll pash him o'er
the face.

_Agam._ O no, you shall not go.

_Ajax._ An he be proud with me, I'll cure his pride; a paultry
insolent fellow!

_Nest._ How he describes himself! [_Aside._

_Ulys._ The crow chides blackness: [_Aside._]--Here is a man,--but
'tis before his face, and therefore I am silent.

_