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And with an accent tun'd in self-same key |
Retorts to chiding fortune. |
ULYSSES. Agamemnon, |
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, |
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit |
In whom the tempers and the minds of all |
Should be shut up-hear what Ulysses speaks. |
Besides the applause and approbation |
The which, [To AGAMEMNON] most mighty, for thy place and sway, |
[To NESTOR] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch'd-out life, |
I give to both your speeches- which were such |
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece |
Should hold up high in brass; and such again |
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, |
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree |
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears |
To his experienc'd tongue-yet let it please both, |
Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. |
AGAMEMNON. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect |
That matter needless, of importless burden, |
Divide thy lips than we are confident, |
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, |
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. |
ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, |
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, |
But for these instances: |
The specialty of rule hath been neglected; |
And look how many Grecian tents do stand |
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. |
When that the general is not like the hive, |
To whom the foragers shall all repair, |
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, |
Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. |
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, |
Observe degree, priority, and place, |
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, |
Office, and custom, in all line of order; |
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol |
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd |
Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye |
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, |
And posts, like the commandment of a king, |
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets |
In evil mixture to disorder wander, |
What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, |
What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, |
Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, |
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, |
The unity and married calm of states |
Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak'd, |
Which is the ladder of all high designs, |
The enterprise is sick! How could communities, |
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, |
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, |
The primogenity and due of birth, |
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, |
But by degree, stand in authentic place? |
Take but degree away, untune that string, |
And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts |
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters |
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, |
And make a sop of all this solid globe; |
Strength should be lord of imbecility, |
And the rude son should strike his father dead; |
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong- |
Between whose endless jar justice resides- |
Should lose their names, and so should justice too. |
Then everything includes itself in power, |
Power into will, will into appetite; |
And appetite, an universal wolf, |
So doubly seconded with will and power, |
Must make perforce an universal prey, |
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, |
This chaos, when degree is suffocate, |
Follows the choking. |
And this neglection of degree it is |
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose |
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd |
By him one step below, he by the next, |
That next by him beneath; so ever step, |
Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick |
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever |
Of pale and bloodless emulation. |
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, |
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, |
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. |
NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd |
The fever whereof all our power is sick. |
AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, |
What is the remedy? |
ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns |
The sinew and the forehand of our host, |
Having his ear full of his airy fame, |
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent |
Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus |
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day |
Breaks scurril jests; |
And with ridiculous and awkward action- |
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls- |
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, |
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