prompt:
Chapter: ACT II. SCENE 1.
The Grecian camp

Enter Ajax and THERSITES

  AJAX. Thersites!
  THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally?
  AJAX. Thersites!
  THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run
    then? Were not that a botchy core?
  AJAX. Dog!
  THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him;
    I see none now.
  AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.
                                                  [Strikes him.]
  THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted
    lord!
  AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee
    into handsomeness.
  THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I
    think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a
    prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain
    o' thy jade's tricks!
  AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
  THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
  AJAX. The proclamation!
  THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think.
  AJAX. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.
  THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the
    scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in
    Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as
    slow as another.
  AJAX. I say, the proclamation.
  THERSITES. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and
    thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at
    Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him.
  AJAX. Mistress Thersites!
  THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him.
  AJAX. Cobloaf!
  THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
    sailor breaks a biscuit.
  AJAX. You whoreson cur!                          [Strikes him]
  THERSITES. Do, do.
  AJAX. Thou stool for a witch!
  THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more
    brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You
    scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, and thou
    art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian
    slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell
    what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!
  AJAX. You dog!
  THERSITES. You scurvy lord!
  AJAX. You cur!                                   [Strikes him]
  THERSITES. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

                 Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS

  ACHILLES. Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?
    How now, Thersites! What's the matter, man?
  THERSITES. You see him there, do you?
  ACHILLES. Ay; what's the matter?
  THERSITES. Nay, look upon him.
  ACHILLES. So I do. What's the matter?
  THERSITES. Nay, but regard him well.
  ACHILLES. Well! why, so I do.
  THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever
    you take him to be, he is Ajax.
  ACHILLES. I know that, fool.
  THERSITES. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
  AJAX. Therefore I beat thee.
  THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His
    evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than
    he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and
    his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This
    lord, Achilles, Ajax-who wears his wit in his belly and his guts
    in his head-I'll tell you what I say of him.
  ACHILLES. What?
  THERSITES. I say this Ajax-        [AJAX offers to strike him]
  ACHILLES. Nay, good Ajax.
  THERSITES. Has not so much wit-
  ACHILLES. Nay, I must hold you.
  THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he
    comes to fight.
  ACHILLES. Peace, fool.
  THERSITES. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not-
    he there; that he; look you there.
  AJAX. O thou damned cur! I shall-
  ACHILLES. Will you set your wit to a fool's?
  THERSITES. No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it.
  PATROCLUS. Good words, Thersites.
  ACHILLES. What's the quarrel?
  AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the
    proclamation, and he rails upon me.
  THERSITES. I serve thee not.
  AJAX. Well, go to, go to.
  THERSITES. I serve here voluntary.
  ACHILLES. Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No
    man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as
    under an impress.
  THERSITES. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your
    sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch
    an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a
    fusty nut with no kernel.
  ACHILLES. What, with me too, Thersites?
  THERSITES. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere
    your grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught
    oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
  ACHILLES. What, what?
  THERSITES. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to-
  AJAX. I shall cut out your tongue.
  THERSITES. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou
    afterwards.
  PATROCLUS. No more words, Thersites; peace!
  THERSITES. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall
    I?
  ACHILLES. There's for you, Patroclus.
  THERSITES. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more
    to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave
    the faction of fools.
Exit
  PATROCLUS. A good riddance.
  ACHILLES. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host,
    That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
    Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy,
    To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms
    That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
    Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash. Farewell.
  AJAX. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
  ACHILLES. I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his
    man.
  AJAX. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.
Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 2.
Troy. PRIAM'S palace

Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS

  PRIAM. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,
    Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
    'Deliver Helen, and all damage else-
    As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
    Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
    In hot digestion of this cormorant war-
    Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't?
  HECTOR. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
    As far as toucheth my particular,
    Yet, dread Priam,
    There is no lady of more softer bowels,
    More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
    More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?'
    Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
    Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
    The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
    To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
    Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
    Every tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes
    Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours.
    If we have lost so many tenths of ours
    To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,
    Had it our name, the value of one ten,
    What merit's in that reason which denies
    The yielding of her up?
  TROILUS. Fie, fie, my brother!
    Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
    So great as our dread father's, in a scale
    Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum
    The past-proportion of his infinite,
    And buckle in a waist most fathomless
    With spans and inches so diminutive
    As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!
  HELENUS. No marvel though you bite so sharp at reasons,
    You are so empty of them. Should not our father
    Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
    Because your speech hath none that tells him so?
  TROILUS. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
    You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:
    You know an enemy intends you harm;
    You know a sword employ'd is perilous,
    And reason flies the object of all harm.
    Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds
    A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
    The very wings of reason to his heels
    And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
    Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason,
    Let's shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour
    Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
    With this cramm'd reason. Reason and respect
    Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
  HECTOR. Brother, she is not worth what she doth, cost
    The keeping.
  TROILUS. What's aught but as 'tis valued?
  HECTOR. But value dwells not in particular will:
    It holds his estimate and dignity
    As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
    As in the prizer. 'Tis mad idolatry
    To make the service greater than the god-I
    And the will dotes that is attributive
    To what infectiously itself affects,
    Without some image of th' affected merit.
  TROILUS. I take to-day a wife, and my election
    Is led on in the conduct of my will;
    My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
    Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
    Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
    Although my will distaste what it elected,
    The wife I chose? There can be no evasion
    To blench from this and to stand firm by honour.
    We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
    When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
    We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
    Because we now are full. It was thought meet
    Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks;
    Your breath with full consent benied his sails;
    The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,
    And did him service. He touch'd the ports desir'd;
    And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
    He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
    Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
    Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.
    Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl
    Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
    And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
    If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went-
    As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go'-
    If you'll confess he brought home worthy prize-
    As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
    And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now
    The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
    And do a deed that never fortune did-
    Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
    Richer than sea and land? O theft most base,
    That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep!
    But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol'n
    That in their country did them that disgrace
    We fear to warrant in our native place!
  CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans, cry.
  PRIAM. What noise, what shriek is this?
  TROILUS. 'Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.
  CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans.
  HECTOR. It is Cassandra.

                  Enter CASSANDRA, raving

  CASSANDRA. Cry, Troyans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,
    And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
  HECTOR. Peace, sister, peace.
  CASSANDRA. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
    Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
    Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes
    A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
    Cry, Troyans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.
    Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
    Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
    Cry, Troyans, cry, A Helen and a woe!
    Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.
Exit
  HECTOR. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
    Of divination in our sister work
    Some touches of remorse, or is your blood
    So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
    Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
    Can qualify the same?
  TROILUS. Why, brother Hector,
    We may not think the justness of each act
    Such and no other than event doth form it;
    Nor once deject the courage of our minds
    Because Cassandra's mad. Her brain-sick raptures
    Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
    Which hath our several honours all engag'd
    To make it gracious. For my private part,
    I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons;
    And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
    Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
    To fight for and maintain.
  PARIS. Else might the world convince of levity
    As well my undertakings as your counsels;
    But I attest the gods, your full consent
    Gave wings to my propension, and cut of
    All fears attending on so dire a project.
    For what, alas, can these my single arms?
    What propugnation is in one man's valour
    To stand the push and enmity of those
    This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
    Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
    And had as ample power as I have will,
    Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done
    Nor faint in the pursuit.
  PRIAM. Paris, you speak
    Like one besotted on your sweet delights.
    You have the honey still, but these the gall;
    So to be valiant is no praise at all.
  PARIS. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
    The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
    But I would have the soil of her fair rape
    Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.
    What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
    Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
    Now to deliver her possession up
    On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
    That so degenerate a strain as this
    Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
    There's not the meanest spirit on our party
    Without a heart to dare or sword to draw
    When Helen is defended; nor none so noble
    Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd
    Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say,
    Well may we fight for her whom we know well
    The world's large spaces cannot parallel.
  HECTOR. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well;
    And on the cause and question now in hand
    Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much
    Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought
    Unfit to hear moral philosophy.
    The reasons you allege do more conduce
    To the hot passion of distemp'red blood
    Than to make up a free determination
    'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge
    Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
    Of any true decision. Nature craves
    All dues be rend'red to their owners. Now,
    What nearer debt in all humanity
    Than wife is to the husband? If this law
    Of nature be corrupted through affection;
    And that great minds, of partial indulgence
    To their benumbed wills, resist the same;
    There is a law in each well-order'd nation
    To curb those raging appetites that are
    Most disobedient and refractory.
    If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king-
    As it is known she is-these moral laws
    Of nature and of nations speak aloud
    To have her back return'd. Thus to persist
    In doing wrong extenuates not wrong,
    But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
    Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne'er the less,
    My spritely brethren, I propend to you
    In resolution to keep Helen still;
    For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence
    Upon our joint and several dignities.
  TROILUS. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design.
    Were it not glory that we more affected
    Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
    I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood
    Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
    She is a theme of honour and renown,
    A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
    Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
    And fame in time to come canonize us;
    For I presume brave Hector would not lose
    So rich advantage of a promis'd glory
    As smiles upon the forehead of this action
    For the wide world's revenue.
  HECTOR. I am yours,
    You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
    I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
    The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks
    Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.
    I was advertis'd their great general slept,
    Whilst emulation in the army crept.
    This, I presume, will wake him.
Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 3.
The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES

Enter THERSITES, solus

  THERSITES. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy
    fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I
    rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that
    I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me! 'Sfoot, I'll learn to
    conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful
    execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be
    not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till
    they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
    forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose
    all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that
    little little less-than-little wit from them that they have!
    which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce,
    it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without
    drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the
    vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan
    bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those
    that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil Envy
    say 'Amen.' What ho! my Lord Achilles!

                      Enter PATROCLUS

  PATROCLUS. Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and
    rail.
  THERSITES. If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou
    wouldst not have slipp'd out of my contemplation; but it is no
    matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly
    and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from
    a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy
    direction till thy death. Then if she that lays thee out says
    thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she never
    shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles?
  PATROCLUS. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?
  THERSITES. Ay, the heavens hear me!
  PATROCLUS. Amen.

                      Enter ACHILLES

  ACHILLES. Who's there?
  PATROCLUS. Thersites, my lord.
  ACHILLES. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my
    digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so
    many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?
  THERSITES. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what's
    Achilles?
  PATROCLUS. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's
    Thersites?
  THERSITES. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art
    thou?
  PATROCLUS. Thou must tell that knowest.
  ACHILLES. O, tell, tell,
  THERSITES. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands
    Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and
    Patroclus is a fool.
  PATROCLUS. You rascal!
  THERSITES. Peace, fool! I have not done.
  ACHILLES. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites.
  THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a
    fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
  ACHILLES. Derive this; come.
  THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles;
    Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a
    fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a fool positive.
  PATROCLUS. Why am I a fool?
  THERSITES. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou
    art. Look you, who comes here?
  ACHILLES. Come, Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me,
    Thersites.
Exit
  THERSITES. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery.
    All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw
    emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on
    the subject, and war and lechery confound all!
Exit

         Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES,
                   AJAX, and CALCHAS

  AGAMEMNON. Where is Achilles?
  PATROCLUS. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.
  AGAMEMNON. Let it be known to him that we are here.
    He shent our messengers; and we lay by
    Our appertainings, visiting of him.
    Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think
    We dare not move the question of our place
    Or know not what we are.
  PATROCLUS. I shall say so to him.
Exit
  ULYSSES. We saw him at the opening of his tent.
    He is not sick.
  AJAX. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it
    melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis
    pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my lord.
                               [Takes AGAMEMNON aside]
  NESTOR. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
  ULYSSES. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
  NESTOR.Who, Thersites?
  ULYSSES. He.
  NESTOR. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument
  ULYSSES. No; you see he is his argument that has his argument-
    Achilles.
  NESTOR. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their
    faction. But it was a strong composure a fool could disunite!
  ULYSSES. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie.

                    Re-enter PATROCLUS

    Here comes Patroclus.
  NESTOR. No Achilles with him.
  ULYSSES. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs
    are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
  PATROCLUS. Achilles bids me say he is much sorry
    If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
    Did move your greatness and this noble state
    To call upon him; he hopes it is no other
    But for your health and your digestion sake,
    An after-dinner's breath.
  AGAMEMNON. Hear you, Patroclus.
    We are too well acquainted with these answers;
    But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
    Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
    Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
    Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues,
    Not virtuously on his own part beheld,
    Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;
    Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
    Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him
    We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin
    If you do say we think him over-proud
    And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
    Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself
    Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
    Disguise the holy strength of their command,
    And underwrite in an observing kind
    His humorous predominance; yea, watch
    His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
    The passage and whole carriage of this action
    Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and ad
    That if he overhold his price so much
    We'll none of him, but let him, like an engine
    Not portable, lie under this report:
    Bring action hither; this cannot go to war.
    A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
    Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so.
  PATROCLUS. I shall, and bring his answer presently.
Exit
  AGAMEMNON. In second voice we'll not be satisfied;
    We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.
                                      Exit ULYSSES
  AJAX. What is he more than another?
  AGAMEMNON. No more than what he thinks he is.
  AJAX. Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better
    man than I am?
  AGAMEMNON. No question.
  AJAX. Will you subscribe his thought and say he is?
  AGAMEMNON. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise,
    no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.
  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.

                      Re-enter ULYSSES

  AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend'ring of toads.
  NESTOR. [Aside] And yet he loves himself: is't not strange?
  ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
  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,
    Untent his person and share the air with us?
  ULYSSES. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
    He makes important; possess'd he is with greatness,
    And speaks not to himself but with a pride
    That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth
    Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse
    That 'twixt his mental and his active parts
    Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
    And batters down himself. What should I say?
    He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it
    Cry 'No recovery.'
  AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him.
    Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.
    'Tis said he holds you well; and will be led
    At your request a little from himself.
  ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
    We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
    When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord
    That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
    And never suffers matter of the world
    Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve
    And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp'd
    Of that we hold an idol more than he?
    No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord
    Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd,
    Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
    As amply titled as Achilles is,
    By going to Achilles.
    That were to enlard his fat-already pride,
    And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
    With entertaining great Hyperion.
    This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
    And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.'
  NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him.
  DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his silence drinks up this applause!
  AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the
    face.
  AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go.
  AJAX. An 'a be proud with me I'll pheeze his pride.
    Let me go to him.
  ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
  AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow!
  NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself!
  AJAX. Can he not be sociable?
  ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness.
  AJAX. I'll let his humours blood.
  AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the
    patient.
  AJAX. An all men were a my mind-
  ULYSSES. [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion.
  AJAX. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat's words first.
    Shall pride carry it?
  NESTOR. [Aside] An 'twould, you'd carry half.
  ULYSSES. [Aside] 'A would have ten shares.
  AJAX. I will knead him, I'll make him supple.
  NESTOR. [Aside] He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises;
    pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
  ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
  NESTOR. Our noble general, do not do so.
  DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
  ULYSSES. Why 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
    Here is a man-but 'tis before his face;
    I will be silent.
  NESTOR. Wherefore should you so?
    He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
  ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
  AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus!
    Would he were a Troyan!
  NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax now-
  ULYSSES. If he were proud.
  DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise.
  ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne.
  DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected.
  ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure
    Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck;
    Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
    Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition;
    But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fight-
    Let Mars divide eternity in twain
    And give him half; and, for thy vigour,
    Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
    To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
    Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
    Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor,
    Instructed by the antiquary times-
    He must, he is, he cannot but be wise;
    But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
    As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd,
    You should not have the eminence of him,
    But be as Ajax.
  AJAX. Shall I call you father?
  NESTOR. Ay, my good son.
  DIOMEDES. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.
  ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
    Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
    To call together all his state of war;
    Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow
    We must with all our main of power stand fast;
    And here's a lord-come knights from east to west
    And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
  AGAMEMNON. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep.
    Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
    Exeunt

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Act Two introduces us to Thersites, an acid-tongued coward of low rank in the Greek army who delights in insulting his superiors. He even trades the foolhardy warrior Ajax colorful insults for brutal blows. The Trojan camp seriously discusses the latest offer from Nestor: the Greeks, it seems, will call off the whole war if the Trojans return Helen. Hector argues that Helen is not worth the amount of blood that has already been shed - and certainly does not merit even more casualties - but Troilus berates him for this opinion, saying that the primary threat is not to Helen's value, but to their city's honor. He reminds his brothers that the conflict began not when Paris took Helen, but when the Greeks took Hersione, a Trojan woman, who was wed to the Greek Telemon. Troilus suggests that if they do not defend their right to avenge Hersione's capture, then the institution upon which their society is based - marriage - will crumble, bringing humanity down with it. Cassandra, the Trojan princess who is doomed to foretell the future but never to be believed, interrupts Troilus and Hector's debate with baleful moaning about the future of Troy if the Trojans fail to return Helen. Seeing that her please are in vain she exits, and the debate continues. Paris jumps into the argument, declaring that he wishes to wipe off the blot of Helen's abduction by "the honorable keeping of her." Hector, although completely unconvinced by his younger brother's attempts at logic, nevertheless agrees that they cannot simply give Helen up, as Troy's honor is now tied to the outcome of the war. In the Greek camp, Achilles continues to refuse to fight. Thersites, apparently having impressed Achilles with his foolish railing against Ajax, has defected to Achilles' side. He meets Achilles' good friend and lover, Patroclus, and rails against him as well. Meanwhile, Nestor, Agamemnon, and Ulysses arrive at Achilles' tent to convince the sullen, proud champion to participate in the next day's fighting, but Patroclus curtly dismisses them. Ulysses begins applying his plan to spur Achilles into battle by praising Ajax to the skies. He gets his fellow Greeks to play along, and Ajax is conned into believing that he, not Achilles, is Greece's most valued resource in the war.


prompt:
Chapter: ACT III. SCENE 1.
Troy. PRIAM'S palace

Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT

  PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young
    Lord Paris?
  SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
  PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean?
  SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
  PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise
    him.
  SERVANT. The lord be praised!
  PANDARUS. You know me, do you not?
  SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially.
  PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus.
  SERVANT. I hope I shall know your honour better.
  PANDARUS. I do desire it.
  SERVANT. You are in the state of grace.
  PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles.
    What music is this?
  SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts.
  PANDARUS. Know you the musicians?
  SERVANT. Wholly, sir.
  PANDARUS. Who play they to?
  SERVANT. To the hearers, sir.
  PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend?
  SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
  PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend.
  SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir?
  PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly,
    and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?
  SERVANT. That's to't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of
    Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus,
    the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul-
  PANDARUS. Who, my cousin, Cressida?
  SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her
    attributes?
  PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady
    Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I
    will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business
    seethes.
  SERVANT. Sodden business! There's a stew'd phrase indeed!

              Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended

  PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company!
    Fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them-especially
    to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your fair pillow.
  HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
  PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince,
    here is good broken music.
  PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it
    whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your
    performance.
  HELEN. He is full of harmony.
  PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no.
  HELEN. O, sir-
  PANDARUS. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
  PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.
  PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you
    vouchsafe me a word?
  HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We'll hear you sing,
    certainly-
  PANDARUS. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry,
    thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your
    brother Troilus-
  HELEN. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord-
  PANDARUS. Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most
    affectionately to you-
  HELEN. You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our
    melancholy upon your head!
  PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith.
  HELEN. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
  PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not,
    in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no. -And, my
    lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper,
    you will make his excuse.
  HELEN. My Lord Pandarus!
  PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
  PARIS. What exploit's in hand? Where sups he to-night?
  HELEN. Nay, but, my lord-
  PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with
    you.
  HELEN. You must not know where he sups.
  PARIS. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
  PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer
    is sick.
  PARIS. Well, I'll make's excuse.
  PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?
    No, your poor disposer's sick.
  PARIS. I spy.
  PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument.
    Now, sweet queen.
  HELEN. Why, this is kindly done.
  PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet
    queen.
  HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.
  PANDARUS. He! No, she'll none of him; they two are twain.
  HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.
  PANDARUS. Come, come. I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a
    song now.
  HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a
    fine forehead.
  PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may.
  HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid,
    Cupid, Cupid!
  PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i' faith.
  PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
  PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so.
[Sings]

    Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!
           For, oh, love's bow
           Shoots buck and doe;
           The shaft confounds
           Not that it wounds,
    But tickles still the sore.
    These lovers cry, O ho, they die!
       Yet that which seems the wound to kill
    Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he!
       So dying love lives still.
    O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
    O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho!

  HELEN. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.
  PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood,
    and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot
    deeds, and hot deeds is love.
  PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts,
    and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of
    vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field today?
  PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry
    of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not
    have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?
  HELEN. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.
  PANDARUS. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend
    to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?
  PARIS. To a hair.
  PANDARUS. Farewell, sweet queen.
  HELEN. Commend me to your niece.
  PANDARUS. I will, sweet queen.       Exit. Sound a retreat
  PARIS. They're come from the field. Let us to Priam's hall
    To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
    To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles,
    With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
    Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
    Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
    Than all the island kings-disarm great Hector.
  HELEN. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
    Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
    Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
    Yea, overshines ourself.
  PARIS. Sweet, above thought I love thee.
Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE 2.
Troy. PANDARUS' orchard

Enter PANDARUS and TROILUS' BOY, meeting

  PANDARUS. How now! Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's?
  BOY. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.

                      Enter TROILUS

  PANDARUS. O, here he comes. How now, how now!
  TROILUS. Sirrah, walk off.                  Exit Boy
  PANDARUS. Have you seen my cousin?
  TROILUS. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door
    Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
    Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
    And give me swift transportance to these fields
    Where I may wallow in the lily beds
    Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandar,
    From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
    And fly with me to Cressid!
  PANDARUS. Walk here i' th' orchard, I'll bring her straight.
      Exit
  TROILUS. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
    Th' imaginary relish is so sweet
    That it enchants my sense; what will it be
    When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed
    Love's thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me;
    Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine,
    Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness,
    For the capacity of my ruder powers.
    I fear it much; and I do fear besides
    That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
    As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
    The enemy flying.

                     Re-enter PANDARUS

  PANDARUS. She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be
    witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as
    if she were fray'd with a sprite. I'll fetch her. It is the
    prettiest villain; she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en
    sparrow.
Exit
  TROILUS. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom.
    My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,
    And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
    Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
    The eye of majesty.

              Re-enter PANDARUS With CRESSIDA

  PANDARUS. Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby.-Here she
    is now; swear the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.-
    What, are you gone again? You must be watch'd ere you be made
    tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw
    backward, we'll put you i' th' fills.-Why do you not speak to
    her?-Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture.
    Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight! An 'twere
    dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress
    How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is
    sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The
    falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' th' river. Go to, go
    to.
  TROILUS. You have bereft me of all words, lady.
  PANDARUS. Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she'll bereave
    you o' th' deeds too, if she call your activity in question.
    What, billing again? Here's 'In witness whereof the parties
    interchangeably.' Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire.
      Exit
  CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?
  TROILUS. O Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus!
  CRESSIDA. Wish'd, my lord! The gods grant-O my lord!
  TROILUS. What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption?
    What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our
    love?
  CRESSIDA. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
  TROILUS. Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly.
  CRESSIDA. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing
    than blind reason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft
    cures the worse.
  TROILUS. O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid's pageant
    there is presented no monster.
  CRESSIDA. Nor nothing monstrous neither?
  TROILUS. Nothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas,
    live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our
    mistress to devise imposition enough than for us to undergo any
    difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that
    the will is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire
    is boundless, and the act a slave to limit.
  CRESSIDA. They say all lovers swear more performance than they are
    able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing
    more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the
    tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions and the act
    of hares, are they not monsters?
  TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are
    tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit
    crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have a praise in
    present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being
    born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith:
    Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst shall
    be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest not
    truer than Troilus.
  CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?

                    Re-enter PANDARUS

  PANDARUS. What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet?
  CRESSIDA. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.
  PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll
    give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.
  TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm
    faith.
  PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though
    they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant being won;
    they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where they are
    thrown.
  CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart.
    Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day
    For many weary months.
  TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
  CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,
    With the first glance that ever-pardon me.
    If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
    I love you now; but till now not so much
    But I might master it. In faith, I lie;
    My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
    Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
    Why have I blabb'd? Who shall be true to us,
    When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
    But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
    And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
    Or that we women had men's privilege
    Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
    For in this rapture I shall surely speak
    The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,
    Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
    My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.
  TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.
  PANDARUS. Pretty, i' faith.
  CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
    'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.
    I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done?
    For this time will I take my leave, my lord.
  TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid!
  PANDARUS. Leave! An you take leave till to-morrow morning-
  CRESSIDA. Pray you, content you.
  TROILUS. What offends you, lady?
  CRESSIDA. Sir, mine own company.
  TROILUS. You cannot shun yourself.
  CRESSIDA. Let me go and try.
    I have a kind of self resides with you;
    But an unkind self, that itself will leave
    To be another's fool. I would be gone.
    Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.
  TROILUS. Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.
  CRESSIDA. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;
    And fell so roundly to a large confession
    To angle for your thoughts; but you are wise-
    Or else you love not; for to be wise and love
    Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.
  TROILUS. O that I thought it could be in a woman-
    As, if it can, I will presume in you-
    To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;
    To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
    Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
    That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
    Or that persuasion could but thus convince me
    That my integrity and truth to you
    Might be affronted with the match and weight
    Of such a winnowed purity in love.
    How were I then uplifted! but, alas,
    I am as true as truth's simplicity,
    And simpler than the infancy of truth.
  CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you.
  TROILUS. O virtuous fight,
    When right with right wars who shall be most right!
    True swains in love shall in the world to come
    Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes,
    Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
    Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration-
    As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
    As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
    As iron to adamant, as earth to th' centre-
    Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
    As truth's authentic author to be cited,
    'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse
    And sanctify the numbers.
  CRESSIDA. Prophet may you be!
    If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
    When time is old and hath forgot itself,
    When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
    And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
    And mighty states characterless are grated
    To dusty nothing-yet let memory
    From false to false, among false maids in love,
    Upbraid my falsehood when th' have said 'As false
    As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
    As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf,
    Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'-
    Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
    'As false as Cressid.'
  PANDARUS. Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I'll be the
    witness. Here I hold your hand; here my cousin's. If ever you
    prove false one to another, since I have taken such pains to
    bring you together, let all pitiful goers-between be call'd to
    the world's end after my name-call them all Pandars; let all
    constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all
    brokers between Pandars. Say 'Amen.'
  TROILUS. Amen.
  CRESSIDA. Amen.
  PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber
    and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your
    pretty encounters, press it to death. Away!
    And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,
    Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear!
Exeunt

ACT III. SCENE 3.
The Greek camp

Flourish. Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX,
MENELAUS, and CALCHAS

  CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done,
    Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud
    To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind
    That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
    I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
    Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself
    From certain and possess'd conveniences
    To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all
    That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
    Made tame and most familiar to my nature;
    And here, to do you service, am become
    As new into the world, strange, unacquainted-
    I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
    To give me now a little benefit
    Out of those many regist'red in promise,
    Which you say live to come in my behalf.
  AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Troyan? Make demand.
  CALCHAS. You have a Troyan prisoner call'd Antenor,
    Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.
    Oft have you-often have you thanks therefore-
    Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange,
    Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,
    I know, is such a wrest in their affairs
    That their negotiations all must slack
    Wanting his manage; and they will almost
    Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
    In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,
    And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
    Shall quite strike off all service I have done
    In most accepted pain.
  AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him,
    And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have
    What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
    Furnish you fairly for this interchange;
    Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow
    Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.
  DIOMEDES. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
    Which I am proud to bear.
                                  Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS

           ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent

  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 turn'd 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.
    It may do good. Pride hath no other glass
    To show itself but pride; for supple knees
    Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
  AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
    A form of strangeness as we pass along.
    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.
  ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me?
    You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
  AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?
  NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
  ACHILLES. No.
  NESTOR. Nothing, my lord.
  AGAMEMNON. The better.
                                  Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR
  ACHILLES. Good day, good day.
  MENELAUS. How do you? How do you?
Exit
  ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me?
  AJAX. How now, Patroclus?
  ACHILLES. Good morrow, Ajax.
  AJAX. Ha?
  ACHILLES. Good morrow.
  AJAX. Ay, and good next day too.
Exit
  ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?
  PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend,
    To send their smiles before them to Achilles,
    To come as humbly as they us'd to creep
    To holy altars.
  ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late?
    'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
    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
    Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
    That are without him, as place, 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,
    Doth 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
    Something not worth in me such rich beholding
    As they have often given. Here is Ulysses.
    I'll interrupt his reading.
    How now, Ulysses!
  ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son!
  ACHILLES. What are you reading?
  ULYSSES. A strange fellow here
    Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted,
    How much in having, or without or in-
    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.
  ACHILLES. 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,
    Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed
    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.
  ULYSSES. 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 anything,
    Though in and of him there be much consisting,
    Till he communicate his parts to others;
    Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
    Till he behold them formed in th' applause
    Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate
    The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
    Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
    His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this;
    And apprehended here immediately
    Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there!
    A very horse 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-
    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,
    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.
  ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
    As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me
    Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?
  ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
    Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
    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
    Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
    In monumental mock'ry. 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
    That one by one pursue; if you give way,
    Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
    Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by
    And leave you hindmost;
    Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
    Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
    O'er-run 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 th' hand;
    And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
    Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,
    And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
    Remuneration for the thing it was;
    For beauty, wit,
    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,
    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,
    That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,
    Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
    Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,
    And still it might, and yet it may again,
    If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive
    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.
  ACHILLES. Of this my privacy
    I have strong reasons.
  ULYSSES. 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.
  ACHILLES. Ha! known!
  ULYSSES. Is that a wonder?
    The providence that's in a watchful state
    Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
    Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps;
    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 island 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.
Exit
  PATROCLUS. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you.
    A woman impudent and mannish grown
    Is not more loath'd 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 airy air.
  ACHILLES. Shall Ajax fight with Hector?
  PATROCLUS. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.
  ACHILLES. I see my reputation is at stake;
    My fame is shrewdly gor'd.
  PATROCLUS. 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 they sit idly in the sun.
  ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.
    I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
    T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat,
    To see us here unarm'd. 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.

                     Enter THERSITES

    A labour sav'd!
  THERSITES. A wonder!
  ACHILLES. What?
  THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself.
  ACHILLES. How so?
  THERSITES. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so
    prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in
    saying nothing.
  ACHILLES. How can that be?
  THERSITES. Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a
    stand; ruminaies like an 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' th' 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 leather jerkin.
  ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
  THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not
    answering. Speaking is for beggars: he wears his tongue in's
    arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make his demands
    to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.
  ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant
    Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my
    tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of the
    magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd
    Captain General of the Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do
    this.
  PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax!
  THERSITES. Hum!
  PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy Achilles-
  THERSITES. Ha!
  PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his
    tent-
  THERSITES. Hum!
  PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.
  THERSITES. Agamemnon!
  PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord.
  THERSITES. Ha!
  PATROCLUS. What you say to't?
  THERSITES. God buy you, with all my heart.
  PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
  THERSITES. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it
    will go one way or other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he
    has me.
  PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
  THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart.
  ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
  THERSITES. No, but he's out a tune thus. What music will be in him
    when Hector has knock'd out his brains I know not; but, I am sure,
    none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings
    on.
  ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.
  THERSITES. Let me carry another to his horse; for that's the more
    capable creature.
  ACHILLES. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
    And I myself see not the bottom of it.
                               Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
  THERSITES. 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

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After a short hiatus from the romance between our title characters, we find ourselves once again in the company of the smooth-talking Pandarus. He meets with Helen and Paris, both of whom are wholly unconcerned with the brutal realities of the Trojan War and are spending their days dallying with musicians. Pandarus comes to ask Paris to make an excuse to Priam for Troilus' absence from their company the coming night. Paris and Helen both know that the reason for this is Troilus' affair with Cressida, though Pandarus denies this when asked outright. Helen convinces Pandarus to sing them a bawdy song full of double entendres and she and Paris retire, presumably to have sex. In the interval between Acts One and Three, Pandarus has apparently executed his office well. He has arranged a tryst for Troilus and Cressida in his garden. Both Troilus and Cressida are taciturn at first, in sharp contrast to the glib and bawdy Pandarus, though they settle into their roles as lovers in time. They discuss the nature of love - the difficulty of living up to the lofty oaths that love inspires in lovers, the ardency of their love for each other. Troilus declares that he will be true to his most outrageous and seemingly hyperbolic oaths. Cressida, for her part, spends much time and thought watching her words. The three seal their union by declaring that their names will go down in history: Troilus states that "true as Troilus" will be his heritage; Cressida declares that if she proves untrue, then women will be called "false as Cressid"; Pandarus says that if their union is not permanent, then all who bring false lovers together will be called "Pandars." Pandarus is not the only one "trading" Cressida; on the other side of the Trojan walls, Cressida's father Calchas is bargaining for his daughter. Agamemnon declares that as payment for Calchas' defection, they will return a captured Trojan prisoner, Antenor, in return for Cressida. Meanwhile, Ulysses' plan to engender jealousy in Achilles is taking shape. He has Agamemnon, Nestor, Menelaus, and Ajax pass by Achilles' tent without paying proper respects, as though they no longer care whether or not he fights. Ulysses then approaches Achilles and remarks in a roundabout way that honor and glory can only survive if they are constantly renewed by action; reputation fades when the glorious rest on their past glories. Ulysses' ploy works, and Achilles sends Patroclus to request that Hector have dinner with him following his challenge with Ajax. Thersites, Patroclus, and Achilles then close Act Three with an impromptu play lampooning Ajax' stupidity.