Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  Which I am proud to bear. [Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS. 40

  Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS, before their tent.

  Ulyss. Achilles stands in the entrance of his tent:

  Please it our general to pass strangely by him,

  As if he were forgot; and, princes all,

  Lay negligent and loose regard upon him: 45

  I will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me

  Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him:

  If so, I have derision med’cinable

  To use between your strangeness and his pride,

  Which his own will shall have desire to drink. 50

  It may do good: pride hath no other glass

  To show itself but pride, for supple knees

  Feed arrogance and are the poor man’s fees.

  Agam. We’ll execute your purpose, and put on

  A form of strangeness as we pass along: 55

  So do each lord, and either greet him not,

  Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more

  Than if not look’d on. I will lead the way.

  Achil. What! comes the general to speak with me?

  You know my mind; I’ll fight no more ‘gainst Troy. 60

  Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with us?

  Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

  Achil. No.

  Nest. Nothing, my lord.

  Agam. The better. [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR. 65

  Achil. Good day, good day.

  Men. How do you? how do you? [Exit.

  Achil. What! does the cuckold scorn me?

  Ajax. How now, Patroclus?

  Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 70

  Ajax. Ha?

  Achil. Good morrow.

  Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit.

  Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?

  Patr. They pass by strangely: they were us’d to bend, 75

  To send their smiles before them to Achilles;

  To come as humbly as they us’d to creep

  To holy altars.

  Achil. What! am I poor of late?

  ’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune, 80

  Must fall out with men too: what the declin’d is

  He shall as soon read in the eyes of others

  As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies;

  Show not their mealy wings but to the summer,

  And not a man, for being simply man, 85

  Hath any honour, but honour for those honours

  That are without him, as places, riches, and favour,

  Prizes of accident as oft as merit:

  Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,

  The love that lean’d on them as slippery too, 90

  Do one pluck down another, and together

  Die in the fall. But ’tis not so with me:

  Fortune and I are friends: I do enjoy

  At ample point all that I did possess,

  Save these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out 95

  Something not worth in me such rich beholding

  As they have often given. Here is Ulysses:

  I’ll interrupt his reading.

  How now, Ulysses!

  Ulyss. Now, great Thetis’ son! 100

  Achil. What are you reading?

  Ulyss. A strange fellow here

  Writes me,

  That man, how dearly ever parted,

  How much in having, or without or in, 105

  Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,

  Nor feels not what he owes but by reflection;

  As when his virtues shining upon others

  Heat them, and they retort that heat again

  To the first giver. 110

  Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses!

  The beauty that is borne here in the face

  The bearer knows not, but commends itself

  To others’ eyes: nor doth the eye itself —

  That most pure spirit of sense — behold itself, 115

  Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos’d

  Salutes each other with each other’s form;

  For speculation turns not to itself

  Till it hath travell’d and is mirror’d there

  Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. 120

  Ulyss. I do not strain at the position,

  It is familiar, but at the author’s drift;

  Who in his circumstance expressly proves

  That no man is the lord of any thing —

  Though in and of him there be much consisting — 125

  Till he communicate his parts to others:

  Nor doth he of himself know them for aught

  Till he behold them form’d in the applause

  Where they’re extended; who, like an arch, reverberates

  The voice again, or, like a gate of steel 130

  Fronting the sun, receives and renders back

  His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;

  And apprehended here immediately

  The unknown Ajax.

  Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse, 135

  That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are,

  Most abject in regard, and dear in use!

  What things again most dear in the esteem

  And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow,

  An act that very chance doth throw upon him, 140

  Ajax renown’d. O heavens! what some men do;

  While some men leave to do.

  How some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall,

  Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!

  How one man eats into another’s pride, 145

  While pride is fasting in his wantonness!

  To see these Grecian lords! why, even already

  They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,

  As if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast,

  And great Troy shrinking. 150

  Achil. I do believe it; for they pass’d by me

  As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me

  Good word or look: what! are my deeds forgot?

  Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,

  Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 155

  A great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes:

  Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour’d

  As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

  As done: perseverance, dear my lord,

  Keeps honour bright: to have done, is to hang 160

  Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail

  In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;

  For honour travels in a strait so narrow

  Where one but goes abreast: keep, then, the path;

  For emulation hath a thousand sons 165

  That one by one pursue: if you give way,

  Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,

  Like to an enter’d tide they all rush by

  And leave you hindmost;

  Or, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank, 170

  Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,

  O’errun and trampled on: then what they do in present,

  Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;

  For time is like a fashionable host,

  That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, 175

  And with his arms outstretch’d, as he would fly,

  Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles,

  And farewell goes out sighing. O! let not virtue seek

  Remuneration for the thing it was;

  For beauty, wit, 180

  High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,

  Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all

  To envious and calumniating time.

  One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,

  That all with one consent praise new-born gawds, 185


  Though they are made and moulded of things past,

  And give to dust that is a little gilt

  More laud than gilt o’er-dusted.

  The present eye praises the present object:

  Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 190

  That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;

  Since things in motion sooner catch the eye

  Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,

  And still it might, and yet it may again,

  If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 195

  And case thy reputation in thy tent;

  Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,

  Made emulous missions ‘mongst the gods themselves,

  And drave great Mars to faction.

  Achil. Of this my privacy 200

  I have strong reasons.

  Ulyss. But ‘gainst your privacy

  The reasons are more potent and heroical.

  ’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

  With one of Priam’s daughters. 205

  Achil. Ha! known!

  Ulyss. Is that a wonder?

  The providence that’s in a watchful state

  Knows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold,

  Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps, 210

  Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,

  Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.

  There is a mystery — with whom relation

  Durst never meddle — in the soul of state,

  Which hath an operation more divine 215

  Than breath or pen can give expressure to.

  All the commerce that you have had with Troy

  As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;

  And better would it fit Achilles much

  To throw down Hector than Polyxena; 220

  But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,

  When fame shall in our islands sound her trump,

  And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,

  ‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win,

  But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’ 225

  Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;

  The fool slides o’er the ice that you should break. [Exit.

  Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you.

  A woman impudent and mannish grown

  Is not more loath’d than an effeminate man 230

  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, 235

  And, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane,

  Be shook to air.

  Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

  Patr. Ay; and perhaps receive much honour by him.

  Achil. I see my reputation is at stake; 240

  My fame is shrewdly gor’d.

  Patr. 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; 245

  And danger, like an ague, subtly taints

  Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

  Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus:

  I’ll send the fool to Ajax and desire him

  T’ invite the Trojan lords after the combat 250

  To see us here unarmed. I have a woman’s longing,

  An appetite that I am sick withal,

  To see great Hector in his weeds of peace;

  To talk with him and to behold his visage,

  Even to my full of view. A labour sav’d! 255

  Enter THERSITES.

  Ther. A wonder!

  Achil. What?

  Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

  Achil. How so? 260

  Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.

  Achil. How can that be?

  Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a stride and a stand; ruminates like a hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say ‘There were wit in this head, an ’twould out;’ and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i’ the combat, he’ll break ‘t himself in vainglory. He knows not me: I said, ‘Good morrow, Ajax;’ and he replies, ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’ What think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin.

  Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

  Ther. Who, I? why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence: let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. 265

  Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him, I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe-conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, et cætera. Do this.

  Patr. Jove bless great Ajax!

  Ther. Hum!

  Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, —

  Ther. Ha! 270

  Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent, —

  Ther. Hum!

  Patr. And to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon.

  Ther. Agamemnon!

  Patr. Ay, my lord. 275

  Ther. Ha!

  Patr. What say you to ‘t?

  Ther. God be wi’ you, with all my heart.

  Patr. Your answer, sir.

  Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o’clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. 280

  Patr. Your answer, sir.

  Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.

  Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

  Ther. No, but he’s out o’ tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none, unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.

  Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. 285

  Ther. Let me bear another to his horse, for that’s the more capable creature.

  Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;

  And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.

  Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance. [Exit.

  Act IV. Scene I.

  Troy. A Street.

  Enter, on one side, ÆNEAS, and Servant with a torch; on the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES, and Others, with torches.

  Par. See, ho! who is that there?

  Dei. It is the Lord Æneas.

  Æne. Is the prince there in person? 5

  Had I so good occasion to lie long

  As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business

  Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

  Dio. That’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Æneas.

  Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand: 10

  Witness the process of your speech, wherein

  You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,

  Did haunt you in the field.

  Æne. Health to you, valiant sir,

  During all question of the gentle truce; 15

  But when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance

  As heart can think or courage execute.

  Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces
.

  Our bloods are now in calm, and, so long, health!

  But when contention and occasion meet, 20

  By Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life

  With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

  Æne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly

  With his face backward. In humane gentleness,

  Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises’ life, 25

  Welcome, indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear,

  No man alive can love in such a sort

  The thing he means to kill more excellently.

  Dio. We sympathize. Jove, let Æneas live,

  If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 30

  A thousand complete courses of the sun!

  But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,

  With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!

  Æne. We know each other well.

  Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. 35

  Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting,

  The noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.

  What business, lord, so early?

  Æne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not.

  Par. His purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek 40

  To Calchas’ house, and there to render him,

  For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.

  Let’s have your company; or, if you please,

  Haste there before us. I constantly do think —

  Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge — 45

  My brother Troilus lodges there to-night:

  Rouse him and give him note of our approach,

  With the whole quality wherefore: I fear

  We shall be much unwelcome.

  Æne. That I assure you: 50

  Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece

  Than Cressid borne from Troy.

  Par. There is no help;

  The bitter disposition of the time

  Will have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you. 55

  Æne. Good morrow, all. [Exit.

  Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; faith, tell me true,

  Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,

  Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best —

  Myself or Menelaus? 60

  Dio. Both alike:

  He merits well to have her that doth seek her —

  Not making any scruple of her soilure —

  With such a hell of pain and world of charge,

  And you as well to keep her that defend her — 65

  Not palating the taste of her dishonour —

  With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:

  He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up

  The lees and dregs of a fiat tamed piece;

  You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 70