Agamemnon

Agamemnon
This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
Aeneas
Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarmed,
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—great Jove’s accord—
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas.
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Ajax
Why should a man be proud? How doth pride
grow? I know not what pride is.
Agamemnon
Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your
virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself.
Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own
chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the
deed devours the deed in the praise.
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Ulysses
Achilles will not to the field tomorrow.
Agamemnon
What’s his excuse?
Ulysses
He doth rely on none,
But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In will peculiar and in self-admission.
Agamemnon
Why, will he not, upon our fair request,
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Ulysses
Achilles stands i’ th’ entrance of his tent.
Please it our General pass strangely by him
As if he were forgot, and, princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him.
I will come last. ‘Tis like he’ll question me
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turned on him.
If so, I have derision medicinable
To use between your strangeness and his pride,
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Agamemnon
What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?
Ulysses
The youngest son of Priam, a true knight,
Not yet mature, yet matchless firm of word,
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue,
Not soon provoked, nor being provoked soon calmed,
His heart and hand both open and both free.
For what he has,
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