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Princes, What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? The ample proposition that hope makes In all designs begun on earth below Fails in the promised largeness: cheques and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d, As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infect the sound pine and divert his grain Tortive and errant from his course of growth. Nor, princes, is it matter new to us That we come short of our suppose so far That after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand; Sith every action that hath gone before, Whereof we have record, trial did draw Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, And that unbodied figure of the thought That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes, Do you with cheeks abash’d behold our works, And call them shames? which are indeed nought else But the protractive trials of great Jove To find persistive constancy in men: The fineness of which metal is not found In fortune’s love; for then the bold and coward, The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft seem all affined and kin: But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass or matter, by itself Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
Princes, What sorrow has made your faces pale? The great plans that hope inspires In all efforts made on earth below Fail in the promised greatness: setbacks and troubles Grow in the veins of actions raised the highest, Just as knots in trees, caused by the meeting of sap, Infect the strong pine and twist its grain Twisting it off course from its natural growth. Nor, princes, is this something new to us That we’ve fallen so short of our expectations That after seven years of siege, Troy still stands; For every action that came before, Of which we have a record, trial showed It strayed off course, not achieving its goal, And that shadowy idea that first gave it shape. So why, you princes, Do you look at our efforts with shame, And call them failures? Which are really nothing more Than the long trials set by great Jove To test men’s ability to stay constant: The true value of which is not found In fortune’s favor; for in that case, the bold and the cowardly, The wise and the foolish, the skilled and the unskilled, The strong and the weak all seem to be alike: But, in the storm of her frown, Difference, with a broad and powerful fan, Blows away the weak; And what has substance, by itself Remains rich in value and pure.
With due observance of thy godlike seat, Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus’ horse: where’s then the saucy boat Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled, Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of courage As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize, And with an accent tuned in selfsame key Retorts to chiding fortune.
With all respect to your noble position, Great Agamemnon, I will respond To your latest words. In the criticism of chance Lies the true test of men: when the sea is calm, How many shallow, insignificant boats dare to sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus’ horse: where’s then the saucy boat Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled, Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of courage As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize, And with an accent tuned in selfsame key Retorts to chiding fortune.
Agamemnon, Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit. In whom the tempers and the minds of all Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks. Besides the applause and approbation To which,
Agamemnon, You great commander, the strength and backbone of Greece, Heart of our army, soul and only spirit. In whom the temperaments and minds of all Should be unified, listen to what Ulysses says. Besides the applause and approval to which,
most mighty for thy place and sway,
Most powerful in your position and influence,
And thou most reverend for thy stretch’d-out life I give to both your speeches, which were such As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece Should hold up high in brass, and such again As venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver, Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both, Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.
And you, the most respected for your long life, I give both your speeches, which were such As Agamemnon and Greece’s strength Should raise high in bronze, and such again As venerable Nestor, born of silver, Should with a bond of air, as strong as the axle-tree On which heaven rides, unite all the Greekish ears To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both, You great and wise leaders, to hear Ulysses speak.
Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Divide thy lips, than we are confident, When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, We shall hear music, wit and oracle.
Speak, prince of Ithaca; and may it be of less expectation That matter unimportant, of no burden, Divide your lips, than we are confident, When rank Thersites opens his mastic jaws, We shall hear music, wit and prophecy.
Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master, But for these instances. The specialty of rule hath been neglected: And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. When that the general is not like the hive To whom the foragers shall all repair, What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre Observe degree, priority and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office and custom, in all line of order; And therefore is the glorious planet Sol In noble eminence enthroned and sphered Amidst the other; whose medicinable eye Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sans cheque to good and bad: but when the planets In evil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues and what portents! what mutiny! What raging of the sea! shaking of earth! Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked, Which is the ladder to all high designs, Then enterprise is sick! How could communities, Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities, Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, The primogenitive and due of birth, Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by degree, stand in authentic place? Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless jar justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then every thing includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite; And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking. And this neglection of degree it is That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d By him one step below, he by the next, That next by him beneath; so every step, Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation: And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
Troy, still standing strong, And Hector’s great sword still without a master, Would have fallen, but for these instances. The specialty of rule has been neglected: And, look, how many Greek tents stand Empty on this plain, so many hollow factions. When the leader is not like the hive To which the workers should all return, What honey is expected? When rank is disguised, The unworthiest appears as fairly in the mask. The heavens themselves, the planets and this earth Follow rank, priority, and place, Structure, course, proportion, season, form, Office and custom, all in line and order; And that’s why the glorious sun Sits in noble eminence, shining and perfect Among the others; whose healing eye Corrects the bad positions of evil planets, And commands, like the commandment of a king, Without check to good and bad: but when the planets In bad alignment to chaos wander, What plagues and omens! What mutiny! What raging seas! Shaking earth! Turmoil in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, Divide and crack, tear apart and uproot The unity and calm of states Right from their foundation! Oh, when rank is shaken, Which is the ladder to all great designs, Then enterprise is doomed! How could communities, Rank in schools and brotherhoods in cities, Peaceful trade from divided shores, The rightful firstborn and birthright, Privileges of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, But by rank, stand in their true place? Take away rank, untune that string, And listen, what discord follows! Each thing clashes In pure opposition: the bounded waters Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores And swallow up the entire globe: Strength should rule weakness, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong, Between whose endless battle justice resides, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then everything falls into power, Power into will, will into desire; And desire, an universal predator, So doubly supported with will and power, Must force an universal prey, And in the end consume itself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when rank is suffocated, Follows the choking. And this ignoring of rank is What causes a downward spiral, with a plan It has to rise again. The general’s insulted By the one just below him, and that person by the next, And the next by the one beneath them; so every step, Followed by the first step that is wounded By his superior, turns into an envious fever Of pale and lifeless rivalry: And it’s this fever that keeps Troy alive, Not her own strength. To finish a long story, Troy stands on our weakness, not on her strength.
Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Ulysses has wisely figured out The fever that makes all our power sick.
The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy?
Now that the nature of the sickness is found, Ulysses, What’s the cure?
The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our designs: with him Patroclus Upon a lazy bed the livelong day Breaks scurril jests; And with ridiculous and awkward action, Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on, And, like a strutting player, whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound ’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage,-- Such to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks, ’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; Cries ’Excellent! ’tis Agamemnon just. Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, As he being drest to some oration.’ That’s done, as near as the extremest ends Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife: Yet god Achilles still cries ’Excellent! ’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night alarm.’ And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age Must be the scene of mirth; to cough and spit, And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sport Sir Valour dies; cries ’O, enough, Patroclus; Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all In pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion, All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, Success or loss, what is or is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
The great Achilles, who is praised As the strength and the pride of our army, With his head full of his empty fame, Becomes too proud of his worth, and in his tent Lies mocking our plans: with him Patroclus Lying lazily on a bed all day Making filthy jokes; And with ridiculous and clumsy actions, Which, the liar calls imitation, He puts on a show for us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon, He acts your position, And, like a brash actor, whose talent Lies in his legs, and thinks it impressive To hear the wooden sound and rhythm Between his stretched legs and the stage,-- Such a pitiable and exaggerated performance He acts your greatness in: and when he speaks, It’s like a bell that’s being fixed; with words all out of place, Which, from the mouth of roaring Typhon dropped Would sound like exaggerations. At this ridiculous scene The mighty Achilles, lying on his pressed bed, Laughs out loud with deep approval; Shouts ’Excellent! It’s Agamemnon right. Now, do Nestor for me; hem, and stroke your beard, As if you’re about to make a speech.’ That’s done, as close as possible To the extremes of similarity, as much as Vulcan and his wife: Yet still Achilles cries ’Excellent! It’s Nestor right. Now do it for me, Patroclus, Getting ready to respond in a night raid.’ And then, truly, the weak defects of age Must be the source of humor; to cough and spit, And, with shaky hands on his neck armor, Fumble with the rivets: and at this joke Sir Valour dies; he cries ’Oh, enough, Patroclus; Or give me steel ribs! I’ll break everything Out of the joy of my frustration.’ And in this way, All our abilities, talents, natures, appearances, Individuals and generals of grace required, Achievements, plans, orders, preventions, Calls to the battlefield, or speeches for peace, Success or failure, whatever is or isn’t, becomes Material for these two to create paradoxes.
And in the imitation of these twain-- Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice--many are infect. Ajax is grown self-will’d, and bears his head In such a rein, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war, Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, To match us in comparisons with dirt, To weaken and discredit our exposure, How rank soever rounded in with danger.
And in the imitation of these two-- Who, as Ulysses says, are crowned by public opinion With a royal voice--many are infected. Ajax has grown stubborn, and holds his head So high, as proud as Achilles; He keeps his tent just like him; Holds feasts of division; criticizes our war effort, Bold as a prophet, and places Thersites, A slave whose venom spreads lies like a mint, To compare us to dirt, To weaken and discredit our exposure, No matter how dangerous it is.
They tax our policy, and call it cowardice, Count wisdom as no member of the war, Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand: the still and mental parts, That do contrive how many hands shall strike, When fitness calls them on, and know by measure Of their observant toil the enemies’ weight,-- Why, this hath not a finger’s dignity: They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war; So that the ram that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, They place before his hand that made the engine, Or those that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution.
They criticize our strategy, and call it cowardice, Consider wisdom irrelevant to the war, Predict things in advance, and only value actions That involve fighting: the quiet and thoughtful parts, That plan how many hands will strike, When the right moment calls, and know by careful planning The weight of the enemy’s strength,-- Well, this has no dignity at all: They call this idle work, useless planning, So that the ram that breaks down the wall, For the great force and roughness of its attack, Is credited with the hand that built the machine, Or those who guide its execution with their intellect.
Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse Makes many Thetis’ sons.
If this is granted, then Achilles’ horse Creates many sons for Thetis.
What trumpet? look, Menelaus.
What’s that trumpet sound? Look, Menelaus.
From Troy.
From Troy.
What would you ’fore our tent?
What do you want here, in front of our tent?
Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?
Is this the tent of the great Agamemnon, please?
Even this.
Yes, it is.
May one, that is a herald and a prince, Do a fair message to his kingly ears?
Can someone, who is both a messenger and a prince, Send a respectful message to your royal ears?
With surety stronger than Achilles’ arm ’Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general.
With a guarantee stronger than Achilles’ arm, Before all the Greek leaders, who, with one voice, Call Agamemnon their leader and general.
Fair leave and large security. How may A stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Fair permission and full security. But how can A stranger to such majestic looks Tell them apart from the eyes of other men?
How!
What?
Ay; I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus: Which is that god in office, guiding men? Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Yes; I ask because I want to awaken respect, And make the face blush with modesty, Like the morning, when she coldly looks at The youthful sun god: Which one is the god in charge, guiding men? Which one is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers.
This Trojan mocks us; or the men of Troy Are overly polite and formal.
Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d, As bending angels; that’s their fame in peace: But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord, Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas, Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! The worthiness of praise distains his worth, If that the praised himself bring the praise forth: But what the repining enemy commends, That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure, transcends.
Courtiers, as free, graceful, and unarmed, As bending angels; that’s their reputation in peace: But when they want to appear as soldiers, they have courage, Good weapons, strong limbs, true swords; and, By Jove’s will, Nothing is so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas, Peace, Trojan; put your finger on your lips! The value of praise loses its worth If the one being praised speaks the praise himself: But what the reluctant enemy praises, That is what fame spreads; that praise, the only true one, is the highest.
Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself AEneas?
Sir, you from Troy, do you call yourself Aeneas?
Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Yes, Greek, that is my name.
What’s your affair I pray you?
What’s your business, I pray?
Sir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.
Sir, excuse me; this is for Agamemnon to hear.
He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.
He doesn’t hear anything privately that comes from Troy.
Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him: I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, To set his sense on the attentive bent, And then to speak.
I don’t come from Troy to whisper in his ear: I bring a trumpet to wake him up, To grab his attention, And then to speak.
Speak frankly as the wind; It is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour: That thou shalt know. Trojan, he is awake, He tells thee so himself.
Speak openly, like the wind; It’s not time for Agamemnon to be sleeping: You’ll see. Trojan, he’s awake, He tells you so himself.
Trumpet, blow loud, Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; And every Greek of mettle, let him know, What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
Trumpet, blow loudly, Send your brass voice through all these lazy tents; And every Greek of courage, let him know, That what Troy says fairly will be spoken aloud.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince call’d Hector,--Priam is his father,-- Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet, And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords! If there be one among the fair’st of Greece That holds his honour higher than his ease, That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril, That knows his valour, and knows not his fear, That loves his mistress more than in confession, With truant vows to her own lips he loves, And dare avow her beauty and her worth In other arms than hers,--to him this challenge. Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Than ever Greek did compass in his arms, And will to-morrow with his trumpet call Midway between your tents and walls of Troy, To rouse a Grecian that is true in love: If any come, Hector shall honour him; If none, he’ll say in Troy when he retires, The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince named Hector,--Priam is his father,-- Who, during this long and dull truce, Has grown rusty: he told me to take a trumpet, And speak for this purpose. Kings, princes, lords! If there’s one among the finest of Greece Who values his honor more than his comfort, Who seeks praise more than fears danger, Who knows his courage, and fears nothing, Who loves his lady more than he admits, And with secret promises, loves her with his lips, And dares to praise her beauty and worth In other arms than his,--let him accept this challenge. Hector, in front of both Trojans and Greeks, Will prove it, or try his best to prove it, He has a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Than any Greek could ever hold in his arms, And tomorrow, with his trumpet, he will call Midway between your tents and the walls of Troy, To challenge a Greek who is true in love: If any come, Hector will honor him; If none, he’ll say in Troy, when he returns, That the Greek women are sunburnt and not worth Even the point of a lance. That’s all.
This shall be told our lovers, Lord AEneas; If none of them have soul in such a kind, We left them all at home: but we are soldiers; And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, That means not, hath not, or is not in love! If then one is, or hath, or means to be, That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
This will be told to our champions, Lord Aeneas; If none of them have the heart for such a challenge, We left them all back home: but we are soldiers; And may that soldier be a coward, Who is not, has not, or is not in love! If there’s one who is, or has, or means to be, That one will meet Hector; if none, then I am he.
Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector’s grandsire suck’d: he is old now; But if there be not in our Grecian host One noble man that hath one spark of fire, To answer for his love, tell him from me I’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver And in my vantbrace put this wither’d brawn, And meeting him will tell him that my lady Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste As may be in the world: his youth in flood, I’ll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
Tell him about Nestor, the one who was a man When Hector’s grandfather was still alive: he’s old now; But if there’s not one noble man in our Greek army Who has even a spark of passion, To answer for his love, tell him from me I’ll hide my silver beard under a gold helmet And put this withered body in my armor, And when I meet him, I’ll tell him my lady Was fairer than his grandmother and as chaste As anyone could be in the world: in my old age, I’ll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!
Now heavens forbid such lack of youth!
Amen.
Amen.
Fair Lord AEneas, let me touch your hand; To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: Yourself shall feast with us before you go And find the welcome of a noble foe.
Fair Lord Aeneas, let me take your hand; I’ll lead you to our tent, sir. Achilles will hear about this challenge; And so will each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: You’ll dine with us before you leave And find the welcome of a noble enemy.
Nestor!
Nestor!
What says Ulysses?
What does Ulysses say?
I have a young conception in my brain; Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
I have an idea in my mind; You are the right time to help me bring it to life.
What is’t?
What is it?
This ’tis: Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all.
Here’s the thing: A blunt wedge can split a tough knot: the pride That has grown in Achilles must either be cut down now, Or, if it spills over, it will create more of the same bad pride And overwhelm us all.
Well, and how?
Well, and how?
This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
This challenge that Hector sends, No matter how it’s spread around with a general name, Is meant only for Achilles.
The purpose is perspicuous even as substance, Whose grossness little characters sum up: And, in the publication, make no strain, But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya,--though, Apollo knows, ’Tis dry enough,--will, with great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose Pointing on him.
The meaning is clear, just like a solid substance, Whose large mass sums up in little marks: And, in the announcement, there’s no ambiguity, But that Achilles, even if his mind were as empty As the deserts of Libya,—though, Apollo knows, It’s dry enough,—will, with great speed and judgment, Yes, with quickness, understand Hector’s purpose Is directed at him.
And wake him to the answer, think you?
And do you think he’ll answer him?
Yes, ’tis most meet: whom may you else oppose, That can from Hector bring his honour off, If not Achilles? Though’t be a sportful combat, Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute With their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly poised In this wild action; for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large. It is supposed He that meets Hector issues from our choice And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, Makes merit her election, and doth boil, As ’twere from us all, a man distill’d Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, What heart receives from hence the conquering part, To steel a strong opinion to themselves? Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments, In no less working than are swords and bows Directive by the limbs.
Yes, it’s necessary: who else can oppose Hector And save his honour, If not Achilles? Even though it’s a playful fight, A lot of opinion depends on it; Because here the Trojans test our highest reputation With their sharpest judgment: and trust me, Ulysses, Our reputation will be oddly balanced In this wild action; because the result, Although it may be personal, will give a glimpse Of what is good or bad for the general situation; And in such things, even small signs Can show the beginnings of the great things to come. It is expected That the one who faces Hector comes from our choice And choice, being the collective decision of all of us, Makes merit her selection, and creates, As it were, a man distilled From our virtues; who, if he fails, What heart can take from this the winning part, To firm a strong opinion about it? Once accepted, the body is his tool, In no less action than swords and bows Directed by the limbs.
Give pardon to my speech: Therefore ’tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think, perchance, they’ll sell; if not, The lustre of the better yet to show, Shall show the better. Do not consent That ever Hector and Achilles meet; For both our honour and our shame in this Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
Please excuse my speech: Therefore it’s best if Achilles doesn’t meet Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our worst goods, And think, maybe, they’ll sell; if not, The brilliance of the better goods will still be seen, And will show to be the better. Don’t agree That Hector and Achilles should ever meet; Because both our honour and our shame in this Are pursued by two strange followers.
I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
I don’t see them with my old eyes: who are they?
What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him: But he already is too insolent; A nd we were better parch in Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, Should he ’scape Hector fair: if he were foil’d, Why then, we did our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery; And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves Give him allowance for the better man; For that will physic the great Myrmidon Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends. If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We’ll dress him up in voices: if he fail, Yet go we under our opinion still That we have better men. But, hit or miss, Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes: Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
The glory Achilles would gain from Hector, If he weren’t so proud, we all would share with him: But he’s already too arrogant; And we’d be better off drying up under the African sun Than suffering the pride and bitter contempt of his eyes, If he escapes Hector unharmed: if he’s defeated, Well then, we crushed our main idea In taint of our best man. No, let’s make it a lottery; And, by plan, let foolish Ajax draw The lot to fight with Hector: among ourselves Let’s agree he’s the better man; Because that will cure the great Myrmidon Who fights for loud praise, and bring him down His pride, which is higher than the rainbow’s arch. If the slow-witted Ajax makes it out alive, We’ll cheer him loudly: if he fails, We’ll still hold to our belief That we have better men. But, win or lose, Our plan still looks like this: Ajax, being used, will knock down Achilles’ pride.
Ulysses, Now I begin to relish thy advice; And I will give a taste of it forthwith To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.
Ulysses, Now I begin to appreciate your advice; And I’ll pass it on to Agamemnon right away. Let’s go to him immediately. Two dogs will fight each other: only pride Must make the dogs fight, like it’s their bone.