‘Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love

Ulysses
‘Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.
Achilles
Ha? Known?
Ulysses
Is that a wonder?
The providence that's in a watchful state
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's gold,
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deep,
Keeps place with thought and almost, like the gods,
Do 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
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.
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.”
Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak.
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.