Nest. Most prudently Ulysses has discovered The malady, whereof our state is sick.

Diom. ’Tis truth he speaks; the general’s disdained
By him one step beneath, he by the next;
That next by him below:  So each degree
Spurns upward at superior eminence. 
Thus our distempers are their sole support;
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.

Agam. The nature of this sickness found, inform us From whence it draws its birth?

Ulys. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The chief of all our host,
Having his ears buzzed with his noisy fame,
Disdains thy sovereign charge, and in his tent
Lies, mocking our designs; with him Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, breaks scurril jests,
And with ridiculous and aukward action,
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,
Mimics the Grecian chiefs.

Agam. As how, Ulysses?

Ulys. Even thee, the king of men, he does not spare,
(The monkey author) but thy greatness pageants,
And makes of it rehearsals:  like a player,
Bellowing his passion till he break the spring,
And his racked voice jar to his audience;
So represents he thee, though more unlike
Than Vulcan is to Venus. 
And at this fulsome stuff,—­the wit of apes,—­
The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling,
From his deep chest roars out a loud applause,
Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze.

Nest. Nor are you spared, Ulysses; but, as you speak in council,
He hems ere he begins, then strokes his beard,
Casts down his looks, and winks with half an eye;
Has every action, cadence, motion, tone,
All of you but the sense.

Agam. Fortune was merry
When he was born, and played a trick on nature,
To make a mimic prince; he ne’er acts ill,
But when he would seem wise: 
For all he says or does, from serious thought,
Appears so wretched, that he mocks his title,
And is his own buffoon.

Ulys. In imitation of this scurril fool,
Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles. 
He keeps a table too, makes factious feasts,
Rails on our state of war, and sets Thersites
(A slanderous slave of an o’erflowing gall)
To level us with low comparisons. 
They tax our policy with cowardice,
Count wisdom of no moment in the war,
In brief, esteem no act, but that of hand;
The still and thoughtful parts, which move those hands,
With them are but the tasks cut out by fear,
To be performed by valour.

Agam. Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse
Is more of use than he; but you, grave pair,
Like Time and Wisdom marching hand in hand,
Must put a stop to these encroaching ills: 
To you we leave the care;
You, who could show whence the distemper springs,
Must vindicate the dignity of kings. [Exeunt.