Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, DIOMEDES, and MENELAUS.

Patro. Look, who comes here.

Achil. Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody;—­come in after me, Thersites. [Exeunt ACHILLES and THERSITES.

Again. Where’s Achilles?

Patro. Within, but ill disposed, my lord.

Men. We saw him at the opening of his tent.

Again. Let it be known to him, that we are here.

Patro. I shall say so to him. [Exit PATROC.

Diom. I know he is not sick.

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart:  you may call it melancholy, if you will humour him; but, on my honour, it is no more than pride; and why should he be proud?

Men. Here comes Patroclus; but no Achilles with him.

  Enter PATROCLUS.

Patro. Achilles bids me tell you, he is sorry
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move you to this visit:  He’s not well,
And begs you would excuse him, as unfit
For present business.

Agam. How! how’s this, Patroclus? 
We are too well acquainted with these answers. 
Though he has much desert, yet all his virtues
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss. 
We came to speak with him; you shall not err,
If you return, we think him over-proud,
And under-honest.  Tell him this; and add,
That if he overhold his price so much,
We’ll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie lag of all the camp. 
A stirring dwarf is of more use to us,
Than is a sleeping giant:  tell him so.

Patro. I shall, and bring his answer presently.

Agam. I’ll not be satisfied, but by himself:  So tell him, Menelaus. [Exeunt MENELAUS and PATROCLUS.

Ajax. What’s he more than another?

Agam. No more than what he thinks himself.

Ajax. Is he so much?  Do you not think, he thinks himself a better man than me?

Diom. No doubt he does.

Ajax. Do you think so?

Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant but much more courteous.

Ajax. Why should a man be proud?  I know not what pride is; I hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

Diom. [Aside.] ’Tis strange he should, and love himself so well.

  Re-enter MENELAUS.

Men. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

Agam. What’s his excuse?

Men. Why, he relies on none
But his own will; possessed he is with vanity. 
What should I say? he is so plaguy proud,
That the death-tokens of it are upon him,
And bode there’s no recovery.

  Enter ULYSSES and NESTOR.