Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
Time, my lord, has a bag on his back, Where he puts gifts for forgetfulness,
Ulysses · Act 3, Scene 3
Ulysses warns Achilles that time forgets yesterday's heroes as easily as it discards trash. The image of Time as a beggar with a wallet full of forgetting is one of Shakespeare's most haunting, and it applies to everyone in the play. No matter what glory one achieves, Time will erase it; the only defense is relentless action and constant renewal of one's fame in the present moment.
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 we sit idly in the sun.
Oh, then, be careful; Those wounds are hard to heal that people inflict on themselves: Failing to do what’s necessary Opens the door to a world of danger; And danger, like a fever, quietly spreads Even when we sit idly in the sun.
Patroclus · Act 3, Scene 3
Patroclus warns Achilles that the wounds a man inflicts on himself are the slowest to heal, and that inaction is its own kind of danger. The lines matter because they name the trap Achilles is in—his pride is eating him from inside, and the longer he waits, the weaker he becomes. It is the voice of someone trying to save a friend from self-destruction.
To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you: A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loathed 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 dew-drop from the lion’s mane, Be shook to air.
I’ve urged you to this, Achilles: A woman who’s become shameless and manly Is no more hated than a weak man In times of war. I’m condemned for this; They think my reluctance for war And your deep love for me holds you back like this: Sweet, wake up; and the little, weak Cupid Will loosen his hold on your neck, And, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane, Be shaken off into the air.
Patroclus · Act 3, Scene 3
Patroclus accuses Achilles of hiding in his tent like an effeminate man, using their love as an excuse for cowardice. The moment cuts because it is Patroclus weaponizing the very thing that binds them—their bond—to shame Achilles back into war. It shows how love can become a tool of manipulation, and how the person closest to you can hurt you most.
