Agamemnon speaks in extended, elaborately ornamented sentences — the rhetoric of command. Watch for how his language inflates every difficulty into a test of virtue, making failure sound like wisdom.
Princes,
What grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below
Fails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
That we come short of our suppose so far
That after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash’d behold our works
And call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else
But the protractive trials of great Jove
To find persistive constancy in men;
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.
But in the wind and tempest of her frown
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass or matter by itself
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
Princes, what sorrow has caused this yellow-sickness on your faces? The promise of hope that we make in all plans started on earth falls short of what we expect; problems and disasters grow in the achievements that reach the highest levels, like knots from where tree sap meets, infecting healthy pine and twisting its natural grain from its path of growth. Nor, princes, is it a new matter to us that we come so far short of our plans that after seven years of siege Troy's walls still stand; since every action we have record of has produced difficulty and problems instead of the goal, and that unreal image of what our minds imagined didn't match what actually happened. Why then, you princes, do you gaze with shamed faces on our works and call them shameful, which are really nothing but the long trials that great Jupiter makes to find constant faithfulness in men; the quality of which strength isn't found by fortune's favor? For then the bold and coward, the wise and fool, the skilled and uneducated, the hard and soft all seem the same. But when Jupiter's wind and storm whip around, her great power fans, blowing at all, sweeps away the light; and what has real substance and weight through itself lies rich in power and stays pure.
Princes, what's making you all so gloomy? The goals we aim for when we start projects down here always fall short of what we hoped for; problems and disasters show up in our best efforts, like knots that form when tree sap meets, infecting a healthy pine and pushing its grain off course. Now, princes, we're not new to discovering that we're not hitting our targets, especially after seven years of fighting and Troy's walls are still standing; because every action we have records of has hit obstacles and gone off-track, and that picture in our heads didn't match reality. So why are you all sitting here looking ashamed at what we've done and calling it shameful, when really it's just Jupiter's way of testing whether men can stay loyal; and that kind of quality doesn't show up when fortune is favoring you. Because then the cowards look brave and the fools look wise, and everyone seems the same. But when Jupiter's winds and storms come, and his power fans through everything, blowing everyone around, then what's real and solid shows itself and stays pure.
princes why so sad? our goals always fall short. problems grow in our biggest efforts. after 7 yrs troys still standing. that pic in our heads never matches reality. its just jupiter testing our loyalty. when storms come the real stuff shows itself
Nestor speaks in analogies and precedent — the old warrior's way of making everything a lesson from the past. He often repeats Ulysses's point more slowly and with less precision.
With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements
Like Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now
Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage,
As rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,
And with an accent tun’d in self-same key
Retorts to chiding fortune.
With respect for your godlike authority, great Agamemnon, Nestor will use your latest words. True proof of men lies in how they handle bad luck. When the sea is smooth, how many small flimsy boats risk sailing on her gentle surface, traveling with larger boats! But let the rough north wind anger gentle Thetis once, and then look: the strong-ribbed ship cuts through liquid mountains, bouncing between the two wet elements like the horse of Perseus. Where then is that bold boat with its weak untimber'd sides, which just a moment ago matched greatness? Either it fled to harbor or became a toast to Neptune. So also does the appearance of courage separate from real courage in storms of fortune; for in fortune's brightness and light the herd gets more damage from a breeze than from a tiger; but when the splitting wind bends the knees of hard oaks, and creatures flee under shelter—then the thing of courage, roused up with rage, feels the same rage, and with the same tone of voice replies back to fortune's blows.
With all respect to your godlike seat, great Agamemnon, I'll build on what you just said. True proof of what men are really made of shows up when things go wrong. When the ocean is calm, look how many flimsy little boats dare to sail on it, competing with bigger ships! But the second the rough north wind upsets gentle Thetis, watch: a strong-ribbed ship cuts through liquid mountains, bouncing between water and sky like Perseus' horse. So where's that bold little boat with its weak sides that just a moment ago was matching bigger ships? Either it ran for harbor or it got wrecked by Neptune. The same thing happens with courage in bad times; when fortune is good and bright, the herd gets more hurt by a light breeze than by a tiger; but when splitting winds bend those tough oak trees, and animals hide for shelter—then real courage, triggered by rage, meets rage with the same energy and talks back to bad fortune in the same language.
great agamemnon ur wise. real courage shows when things go wrong. calm seas look fine. strong wind? weak boats disappear. same w courage. good times? easy. bad times? thats when u see who has it
Ulysses is the play's master manipulator — his speeches are always logically airtight and strategically motivated. Watch for the gap between what he argues in public and what he schemes in private.
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 th’applause and approbation
The which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway,
Agamemnon, great commander, nerve and strength of Greece, heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit in which the tempers and minds of all should be closed in—listen to what Ulysses speaks. Besides the praise and approval which, most mighty, you deserve for your place and power,
Agamemnon, you're the great leader, the guts and muscle of Greece, the heart of all of us, the only soul that should hold all our spirits and thoughts together—hear what I have to say. Besides all the praise and respect you absolutely deserve because of who you are and your power,
agamemnon u r greece. u r our heart soul & spirit. listen to me. u deserve respect for who u are
[_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.
And you, most honored one, for your long life, I give equal praise to both your speeches—they were such speeches that Agamemnon and the forces of Greece should display them in brass, and such again that venerable Nestor, honored in silver, should with a bond as strong as the axis of heaven itself bind all Greek ears to his experienced voice. Yet let it please both of you, great and wise ones, to hear what Ulysses has to say.
And you, sir, honored for your long life—I'm saying the same thing about both your speeches. These are speeches that Agamemnon and all of Greece should put in brass and preserve forever, and Nestor's words, honored in silver, should tie together all the Greeks to listen with something as powerful as the pole that heaven rotates on. But I'm asking you two great and wise leaders to hear me out too.
both speeches are legendary deserve brass and silver just let me speak too
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.
Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and let me be less likely to expect meaningless, useless talk to fall from your lips than to be confident that when the rude Thersites opens his loud mouth, we will hear music, wit, and wisdom.
Go ahead and speak, Prince of Ithaca; I'm less likely to expect pointless rambling from you than I am to be certain that when that crude jerk Thersites opens his big mouth, we'll hear something smart and valuable.
speak prince. i trust u way more than that crude thersites guy
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 influence of evil planets,
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 every 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.
Troy would have fallen long ago from its foundation, and great Hector's sword would have had no one to wield it, except for these reasons: the special nature of leadership has been neglected; and look at how many Greek tents stand here, so many are hollow factions. When the general doesn't match the beehive, to whom all the workers bring their honey, what honey is expected? When rank is hidden, the most worthless looks as good in the disguise. The heavens themselves, the planets, and this center, observe rank, priority, and place, position, course, balance, season, form, office, and custom, in all lines of order; and so the glorious planet Sun sits nobly high and placed among the others, whose healing light fixes the influence of bad planets, and travels, like a king's command, without stopping, to good and bad. But when the planets wander in bad mixture into disorder, what plagues and omens, what rebellion, what raging of the sea, shaking of earth, stirring in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, turn and crack, rend and dig up, the unity and peaceful calm of kingdoms far from their proper place! O, when rank is shaken, which is the ladder of all high plans, the project sickens! How could communities, classes in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, peaceful trade from separated shores, first right of birth, respect for age, crowns, scepters, laurels, stand in their right place except by rank? Take away rank, untune that string, and listen to what disagreement follows! Each thing breaks down into pure fighting: the confined waters would rise higher than the shores, and make all this solid earth a swamp; strength would be the ruler of weakness, and the rough son would strike his father to death; force would be right; or rather, right and wrong—between whose endless argument justice lives—should lose their names, and justice too should be lost. Then everything includes itself in power, power goes into desire, desire goes into appetite; and appetite, a universal beast, doubled with desire and power, must make everything into prey, and in the end eat itself up. Great Agamemnon, this chaos, when rank is killed, comes from that choking. And this neglect of rank it is that goes backward with a purpose to climb. The general is disrespected by the one step below him, he by the next, that next by the one beneath; so every step, shown by the first level that is sick from his superior, grows into an envious fever of pale and bloodless competition. And it's this fever that keeps Troy standing, not its own strength. To end a long story, Troy stands in our weakness, not in her strength.
Troy would have come down a long time ago, and Hector's sword would have no one to hold it, except for this: leadership has lost its authority; and look at all these Greek tents—there are just as many split groups inside them. When the leader isn't like a beehive where everyone brings their work to one place, what good work can you expect? When rank disappears, the worst person looks as good as the best in disguise. Even the sky itself, all the planets, and everything around us follows rank, priority, and place, movement, proportion, timing, form, role, and tradition in every line of order; so the brilliant Sun sits high and honored among the others, and its healing light fixes the damage from bad planets and sends out commands like a king gives orders, without question, to good and bad things. But when planets wander out of order into chaos, what plagues happen, what signs, what mutiny, what the sea rages, the earth shakes, the winds blow crazy! Frights, changes, horrors, break, crack, tear and rip the peace and unity of kingdoms right out of place! O, when rank breaks, which is the ladder for all big plans, the whole thing gets sick! How could towns, classes in schools, and groups in cities, trade between different places, birthright, respect for elders, crowns, scepters, laurels, stay in their proper spots except by rank? Remove rank, break that string, and hear the chaos that follows! Everything falls apart into pure war: water that should stay in place would rise above the land and make the whole world a swamp; the strong would rule the weak, and sons would kill their fathers; might would be right; or better, right and wrong—between whose endless fight justice exists—would stop having names, and justice would be gone. Then everything is just power, power becomes appetite, appetite becomes hunger; and hunger, which eats everything, doubled with power and appetite, has to make everything into food, and in the end eat itself. Great Agamemnon, this is the mess when rank is destroyed, and it all comes from that breakdown. And this ignoring of rank is what moves backward while pretending to climb. The general gets disrespected by the person below him, who gets disrespected by the next person, who gets disrespected by the one below; so every level, seeing the one above is sick from his boss, catches an envious fever of pale and lifeless competition. And this fever is what keeps Troy up, not Troy's own strength. To finish this long speech, Troy stands only because of our weakening, not because of her strength.
troy would be down. no order = chaos. hector sword w no one. generals losing respect. cascades down. everyone disrespects the guy below. feverish competition. troy stands cuz we r weak not cuz theyre strong
Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d
The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Most cleverly has Ulysses found here the sickness that all our power suffers from.
Ulysses just nailed exactly what's wrong with all of us.
ulysses just figured out whats killing us
The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?
The sickness found, Ulysses, what is the cure?
So now that we know what the problem is, what's the answer?
ok so whats the fix
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,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting player whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage—
Such to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks
’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right!
Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he being drest to some oration.’
That’s done—as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife;
Yet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!
’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.’
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit
And, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport
Sir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field or speech for truce,
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Great Achilles, whom everyone thinks is the muscle and most valuable player of our army, filled with his own fame, becomes proud of his worth, and in his tent lies mocking our plans; with him Patroclus on a lazy bed all day breaks dirty jokes; and with silly and awkward acting—which, slanderer that he is, he calls mimicry—he acts us out. Sometimes, great Agamemnon, he puts on your highest command act; and like a showing-off actor whose genius lives in his hamstring, and thinks it rich to hear the wooden language and sound between his stretched legs and the stage—such pitiful and overstretched acting he does of your greatness; and when he speaks it's like a bell being fixed; with rough words, which, from the mouth of roaring Typhon dropped, would seem over-the-top. At this stale stuff, the big Achilles, lying on his pressed bed, laughs out loud; shouts 'Perfect! That's Agamemnon right! Now act me Nestor; clear your throat, and stroke your beard, like he's getting ready to make a speech.' That's done—as near as two parallel lines, as like as the blacksmith god and his wife; yet god Achilles still shouts 'Perfect! That's Nestor right. Now act me, Patroclus, preparing to answer in a night alarm.' And then, look, the weak problems of old age must become the joke: to cough and spit and, with a shaky stumbling on his neck armor, shake in and out the rivet. And at this game real valor dies; shouts 'O, enough, Patroclus; or give me iron ribs! I'll burst from laughing so hard.' And in this way all our skills, talents, looks, individual achievements and general beauty, successes, plans, orders, preparations, pushes for battle or words for peace, success or failure, what is or is not, becomes stuff for these two to make jokes with.
Great Achilles, who everyone thinks is the best soldier we have, full of his own reputation, starts acting like he's too good for our plans; he lies in his tent with Patroclus all day making dirty jokes; and with ridiculous, clumsy acting—which he, the slanderer, calls 'impersonation'—he does imitations of all of us. Sometimes he does your big formal general routine, Agamemnon; like some show-off actor who thinks the only thing that matters is what's between his legs, and gets proud hearing people react to his overdone voice between his stretched legs and the stage boards—he acts out your command in this pathetic, over-the-top way; and when he talks it's like listening to a broken bell being fixed; with rough language that, if it came from the mouth of roaring Typhon, would sound like huge exaggeration. At this old stale stuff, big Achilles, lying on his comfortable bed, laughs his head off; yells 'Perfect! That's Agamemnon! Now do Nestor for me; clear your throat and stroke your beard like you're about to give a speech.' Done—just like perfect parallel lines, just like a blacksmith and his wife; yet Achilles keeps screaming 'Perfect! That's Nestor! Now do me, Patroclus, getting ready for a night battle alarm.' And then all of a sudden the sad signs of old age become the comedy: coughing and spitting and shaking with a shaky stumble on his neck guard, shaking the bolt in and out. And at this game real courage dies; Achilles yells 'O, enough, Patroclus; or give me iron ribs! I'm going to split from laughing!' And in this way all our abilities, talents, appearances, individual and general excellence, successes, strategies, orders, precautions, pushes toward battle or words for peace, winning or losing, everything—becomes just stuff for these two to make fun of.
achilles thinks hes too good. mocks us all day. does us. coughs spits. makes fun of everything. our skills talents looks - all jokes to him
And in the imitation of these twain—
Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice—many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will’d and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
To match us in comparisons with dirt,
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.
And infected by the imitation of these two—who, as Ulysses says, public opinion crowns with an imperial voice—many are infected. Ajax has become willful and holds his head in such control, as proud as broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; makes opposing parties at feasts; insults our state of war as freely as an oracle, and sets Thersites, a slave whose mouth coins insults like a coin maker, to match us in comparisons with dirt, to weaken and damage our reputation, how seriously surrounded by danger.
And everyone watching these two—who, as Ulysses says, are treated like kings by public opinion—are getting infected by their attitude. Ajax is getting willful and proud, acting just like Achilles does; he keeps his tent separate like Achilles; he throws parties that divide the camp; he insults our war effort like he's a prophet, and he gets Thersites, a guy who makes insults like a coin press makes coins, to trash talk us and compare us to dirt, to trash our reputation and weaken us, even though we're surrounded by real danger.
ajax copies achilles. throws divisive parties. insults our war effort. thersites makes insults non stop. we r surrounded by danger but theyre trashing us
They tax our policy and call it cowardice,
Count wisdom as no member of the war,
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand. The still and mental parts
That do contrive how many hands shall strike
When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies’ weight—
Why, this hath not a finger’s dignity:
They call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;
So that the ram that batters down the wall,
For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,
They place before his hand that made the engine,
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
They attack our thinking and call it fear, count thought as not a weapon in war, push aside foresight, and value only hand-to-hand action. The quiet and thoughtful parts that plan how many hands will strike when the time is right, and know, from their careful watching, how strong the enemies are—this has no value: they call this book work, mapmaking, thinking war; so the battering ram that breaks down the wall, because of its big rough power, they place before the hand that made the machine, or those who with their smart thoughts guide its use.
They criticize our strategy and call it cowardice, they don't think strategy is a weapon in war, they dismiss planning, and they only value swinging swords. The thinking and planning that figures out how many soldiers to use when the moment comes, and knows from watching how strong the enemy is—they think this is worthless: they call it book learning, mapmaking, armchair war; so they praise the battering ram that destroys the wall, because it's big and powerful, more than they praise the person who invented it, or the smart people who figure out how to use it.
they say strategy is cowardice. only value sword fighting. planning is worthless. they praise the battering ram but not the person who invented it
Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse
Makes many Thetis’ sons.
If we agree to this, then Achilles' horses would make many demigods.
If we went along with that thinking, Achilles' horses would create a whole army of superheroes.
if that were true achilles horses would b gods lol
Ulysses's speech on 'degree' is one of the set pieces of Elizabethan political thought. The idea that the cosmos, nature, and society all depend on rank and hierarchy — the 'Great Chain of Being' — was commonplace in 1601 and not unique to Shakespeare. What's remarkable is what happens immediately after: Ulysses proposes to rig a lottery, manipulate Ajax's stupidity, and use indirect flattery to shame Achilles. The man who argues most eloquently for proper order is about to engineer a masterpiece of disorder. Whether Ulysses genuinely believes what he says — or whether the speech is itself a kind of manipulation, performed for the generals who need to hear it — is the kind of question that makes this play so unsettling.
What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.
Who's blowing that horn? Menelaus, check it out.
Who's blowing that trumpet? Menelaus, go see.
whos that trumpet player
Menelaus barely speaks — the man whose stolen wife started the war is the most marginal figure in the Greek high command. Watch how little he says.
From Troy.
From Troy.
from troy.
from troy.
What would you fore our tent?
What do you want before our tent?
What brings you to our tent?
what do u want here
Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?
Is this the great Agamemnon's tent, I ask you?
Is this the great Agamemnon's tent?
is this agamemnons tent
Even this.
Even this.
even this.
even this.
May one that is a herald and a prince
Do a fair message to his kingly eyes?
May a person who is both a herald and a prince deliver a fair message to his royal eyes?
Can someone who's both a messenger and a prince deliver a respectful message to your eyes?
can a herald & prince speak to u
With surety stronger than Achilles’ arm
Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.
With safety stronger than Achilles' arm and supported by all the Greek leaders, who with one voice call Agamemnon head and general.
With protection that's stronger than Achilles' arm, backed by every Greek leader who all together say Agamemnon is our head and general.
w protection from all greeks who call u their general
Fair leave and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Fair permission and great protection. How can a stranger to those most kingly looks know them from the eyes of other people?
Great permission and protection. How can someone who doesn't know you recognize those royal features and separate them from any other person's face?
how do i know its really u & not someone else
How?
How?
how?
how?
Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus.
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Yes; I ask so that I might awaken respect, and make the cheek ready with a blush modest as morning when she looks coldly at the youthful sun god. Which is that god in control, leading people? Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Right; I'm asking so I can show proper respect, and so someone's cheek might blush modestly like morning when it looks at the young sun. Which god is in charge, leading people? Which one is the great and mighty Agamemnon?
im asking so i can show respect properly. which god leads men? which 1 is agamemnon
This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
This Trojan disrespects us, or else the men of Troy are very ceremonial and polite.
This Trojan is insulting us, or the Trojans are just incredibly polite and formal.
this trojan is being rude or trojans r super formal
Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,
As bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips.
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;
But what the repining enemy commends,
That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.
Polite as freely given, as graceful, unarmed, as bending angels; that's their reputation in peace. But when they want to seem like soldiers, they have nerve, good arms, strong joints, true swords; and by Jupiter's agreement, nothing so full of heart. But wait, Aeneas, wait, Trojan; put your finger to your lips. When the praised person brings the praise themselves, they damage their own worth; but what the angry enemy says praisingly, that breath of fame blows; that praise, only pure, goes beyond.
As polite and generous, as graceful, unarmed, like bending angels; that's their reputation when there's peace. But when they want to look like warriors, they have guts, good weapons, strong joints, real swords; and by Jupiter's will, nothing more full of heart. But hold on, Aeneas, hold on, Trojan; zip your lip. When people praise themselves, they ruin their own value; but when an angry enemy says something nice about you, that praise is genuine; that's pure praise worth something.
trojans r graceful angels in peace. in war they got guts & swords. but stop aeneas - when u praise urself u ruin urself. enemy praise is real
Achilles lying in his tent while the war goes on without him is one of the oldest stories in Western literature — it's the subject of the Iliad. Homer's Achilles withdraws because of an insult to his honor (Agamemnon stole his war prize, a woman named Briseis). Shakespeare's Achilles is something more ambiguous: he's bored, contemptuous, and — as later scenes will reveal — romantically compromised. The play is entirely consistent with the Homer: pride, love, and a refusal to be adequately valued. But Shakespeare makes the contempt more explicit and the satire sharper. Patroclus's impressions of the Greek generals are a rehearsal for the play's own satirical project.
Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas?
Sir, you who are from Troy, do you call yourself Aeneas?
Sir, you're from Troy—is your name Aeneas?
ur aeneas from troy right
Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Yes, Greek, that is my name.
Yes, that's my name.
yes thats me
What’s your affairs, I pray you?
What is your business, I ask?
What's your business here?
what do u want
Sir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.
AGAMEMNON
He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.
Sir, pardon me; it's for Agamemnon's ears alone. Agamemnon: He hears nothing privately that comes from Troy.
Sir, forgive me; this is private for Agamemnon. Agamemnon: I don't listen to private messages from Troy.
sirs its private for agamemnon. agamemnon: i dont do private messages from troy
Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
I don't come from Troy to whisper with him; I bring a trumpet to wake his ear, to put all his attention on alert, and then to speak.
I'm not here to whisper to him in secret; I'm bringing a trumpet call to wake him up, to get everyone's attention, and then to deliver my message.
im not here to whisper. bringing a trumpet call to wake u up. then ill speak
Speak frankly as the wind;
It is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.
Speak openly as the wind; it is not Agamemnon's sleeping time. Know this, Trojan, he is awake, he tells this to you himself.
Speak out loud as the wind blows; Agamemnon isn't sleeping. Know this, Trojan—he's awake, and he's telling you that himself.
speak loud im awake. trojan this is agamemnon
Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
Trumpet, sound loudly, send your brass voice through all these lazy tents; and every Greek of courage, let him know what Troy plans fairly will be spoken loudly.
Trumpet, blow loud, send your sound through all these lazy tents; every brave Greek should know that what Troy intends will be stated clearly.
trumpet blow loud thru tents. every greek should know what troy says
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince called Hector—Priam is his father—
Who in this dull and long-continued truce
Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet
And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!
If there be one among the fair’st of Greece
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That feeds his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress more than in confession
With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
And dare avow her beauty and her worth
In other arms than hers—to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good or do his best to do it:
He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did couple in his arms;
And will tomorrow with his trumpet call
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Hector shall honour him;
If none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy a prince called Hector—Priam is his father— who in this dull, long-continued truce has grown restless. He sent me with a trumpet to deliver this challenge: Kings, princes, lords! If there is any among the fairest Greeks who holds his honor higher than his comfort, who feeds his reputation more than he fears his danger, who knows his valor and knows not his fear, who loves his mistress more than in his secret confessions he admits to loving her, and dares to speak of her beauty and worth in public, not hidden in her arms alone—to him this challenge. Hector, in front of all Trojans and Greeks, will make good on it or do his best to do so. He has a lady wiser, fairer, truer than any Greek warrior ever had. Tomorrow with his trumpet he will call mid-way between your tents and Troy's walls to summon a Greek who is true in love. If any come, Hector shall honor him. If none come, he will return to Troy and say the Greek women are sunburnt and not worth the splinter of a lance. That is all.
Listen, Agamemnon—we have a Trojan prince named Hector, Priam's son, and he's tired of this boring truce. He sent me to challenge you all: Hey, commanders! If any of you Greeks cares more about honor than comfort, values his reputation over his safety, knows he's brave and fears nothing, loves his girlfriend more than he'd ever admit out loud, and is willing to say it—then Hector wants to fight you. He's got a woman who's smarter, prettier, and more loyal than anyone you Greeks have. Tomorrow he'll blow his trumpet halfway between the camps and wait for a real Greek lover to show up. If you come, he'll show you respect. If nobody shows, he's telling Troy that Greek women aren't worth the trouble. That's it.
hector's tired of waiting he's challenging u if u got real honor, real love, real guts come fight him tomorrow mid-way between camps he's got a woman better than urs if no one comes ur women mean nothing that's the message
This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We left them all at home. But we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove
That means not, hath not, or is not in love.
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
This will be told to our lovers, Lord Aeneas. If none of them has the heart for this kind of thing, we left them all at home. But we are soldiers; and let that soldier be a complete coward who doesn't mean, doesn't have, or isn't in love. If then one does, or has, or means to be, that one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
I'll tell this to the men we love, Lord Aeneas. If none of them have the guts for this, we left them back home. But we're soldiers; and any soldier who doesn't mean, doesn't have, or isn't in love is a coward. If one of them does have this, or has had it, or wants to, then he meets Hector; if nobody else will, then I will.
ill tell our men. we r soldiers. if u r in love u fight hector. if no one else does ill fight
Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;
But if there be not in our Grecian host
A noble man that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love, tell him from me
I’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
And in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns,
And meeting him, will tell him that my lady
Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste
As may be in the world. His youth in flood,
I’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood.
Tell him about Nestor, one who was a man when Hector's grandfather was nursing. He is old now; but if there is not in our Greek army a noble man who has one spark of fire to answer for his love, tell him from me I'll hide my white beard in a gold helmet, and into my arm protection put these thin muscles, and when I meet him, I'll tell him that my lady was prettier than his grandmother, and as pure as possible in the world. His strength in its prime, I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
Tell him about Nestor—I was a man when Hector's grandfather was being nursed. I'm old now; but if there isn't one noble man in our Greek army with even one spark of courage to fight for love, then tell him I'll hide my white beard under a gold helmet, I'll put these thin old muscles into my armor sleeves, and when I meet him, I'll tell him my lady was prettier than his grandmother and as pure as you could be. Even though I'm past my prime, I'll prove this is true with my last bit of blood.
im nestor was a man when hectors grandpa was a baby. im old now but ill hide my beard under gold helmet & fight. my ladys prettier & purer
Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!
Now heaven protect us from such a lack of young men!
Let's hope heaven saves us from running out of young warriors!
lets hope we dont run outta young warriors
Amen.
Amen.
amen.
amen.
Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
Achilles shall have word of this intent;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.
Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand; to our tent I will lead you, sir. Achilles will hear of this plan; so will every Greek lord, from tent to tent. You will feast with us before you go, and find the welcome of a noble enemy.
Noble Aeneas, come shake my hand; I'll take you to our tent. Achilles will hear about this; every Greek lord will too, tent by tent. You'll eat with us before you leave, and you'll feel like a welcomed enemy.
aeneas lets shake hands. im taking u to our tent. achilles & all greeks will hear. youll feast w us
Scene 1-3 operates in three distinct registers that never quite merge. First: the grand philosophical council (Agamemnon and Nestor with their elaborate similes, Ulysses with his degree speech) — this is epic rhetoric at full volume. Second: the Aeneas embassy scene, which is formal diplomatic theater, elaborate courtesy concealing direct communication. Third: the private scheming of Ulysses and Nestor — prose-like, practical, cold. The shift from the grand speech to the scheme is the scene's crucial move: watch how quickly 'degree' (the cosmic principle Ulysses just invoked) becomes a tool to be bypassed. That gap — between the speech and the action — is the play's essential irony.
Nestor!
Nestor!
nestor!
nestor!
What says Ulysses?
What says Ulysses?
what says ulysses?
what says ulysses?
I have a young conception in my brain;
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
I have a young plan forming in my mind; be the midwife to bring it to birth.
I've got an idea forming in my head; help me develop it into something real.
ive got an idea help me develop it
What is’t?
What is’t?
what is’t?
what is’t?
This ’tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil
To overbulk us all.
This is it: hard wedges break tough knots. The planted pride that has blown up to this size in rank Achilles must now be cut down or, if it falls, will plant a crop of the same evil that will overwhelm us all.
Here it is: you use hard wedges to break tough knots. This pride that's grown so big in Achilles needs to be cut down now, or if it drops seeds, it'll grow an even worse crop that'll take over everything.
wedges break knots. achilles pride grew too big. gotta cut it now or itll grow into something worse
Well, and how?
Well, and how?
well, and how?
well, and how?
This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
This challenge that the beautiful Hector sends, however it is spread as a general message, really points only at Achilles.
This challenge that Hector sent out, even though it sounds like it's for everyone, is really only aimed at Achilles.
hectors challenge sounds general but its really just for achilles
True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance
Whose grossness little characters sum up;
And, in the publication, make no strain
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows,
’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose
Pointing on him.
True. The purpose is clear as substance whose thickness small letters add up to; and, in telling this, make no strain but that Achilles, even if his brain were as empty as the banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows, it's dry enough—will with great speed of thought, yes, with quickness, find Hector's point aiming at him.
Right. The point is obvious like substance whose weight small letters add up to; and, when we announce this, don't doubt that Achilles, even if his brain were as empty as the deserts of Libya—and Apollo knows it's dry enough—will quickly figure out that Hector's really challenging him personally.
right hectors point is obvious. achilles will figure it out fast even if hes not smart
And wake him to the answer, think you?
And will he wake up to answer, do you think?
And do you think he'll jump on it and answer the challenge?
will he answer the challenge
Why, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose
That can from Hector bring those honours off,
If not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,
Yet in this trial much opinion dwells
For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute
With their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois’d
In this vile action; for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general;
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is suppos’d
He that meets Hector issues from our choice;
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
As ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Why, that's the best course. Who else could you pick to take those honors from Hector, if not Achilles? Even though it's a playful combat, a lot of importance rests on this test for here the Trojans taste our most valued reputation with their finest tongue; and trust me, Ulysses, our reputation will be awkwardly balanced in this base action; for the result, even though personal, will give a small sample of good or bad to the general; and in such small signs, even though small marks in what comes after, there is seen the small image of the giant thing of what comes later. It is supposed that he who meets Hector comes from our choice; and choice, being a joint act of all our souls, makes worth her selection, and boils, as if from all of us, a man made pure from our virtues; who if he fails, what heart receives from this a winning piece to steel a strong belief in themselves? Which believed in, limbs are his tools, in no less power than swords and bows guided by the limbs.
Well, that's what needs to happen. Who else could you send to fight Hector and win honor from him, if not Achilles? Even though this is a sporting match, the stakes are huge because here the Trojans will get to judge our best reputation; and trust me, Ulysses, how we look in this fight will either boost or tank our reputation; whatever happens, even if it's personal between them, it'll tell the whole world if we're strong or weak; and in these test moments, even though they seem small, you see the tiny outline of what's going to be a huge thing. It's supposed that whoever fights Hector is our best representative; and when everyone picks the same person, it means that person represents all our virtues combined; if that person loses, how does anyone believe they can win? If they do believe, then their whole body becomes a weapon, no weaker than a sword guided by a strong hand.
gotta be achilles. trojans judge us here. lose & everyones weak. win & everyones strong. his whole body becomes weapon
Give pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet
Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants,
First show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell;
If not, the lustre of the better shall exceed
By showing the worse first. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
Let me explain. So it's best if Achilles doesn't meet Hector. Let us, like merchants, show bad goods first, and think maybe they'll sell; if not, then the shine of the better will stand out more by showing the worse first. Don't let Hector and Achilles ever meet; for both our honor and our shame in this are followed by two strange companions.
Let me make my point. So Achilles shouldn't fight Hector. We should do what merchants do—show the bad stuff first and hope it sells; if it doesn't, then the good stuff looks even better next to it. Don't let Hector and Achilles fight each other; because both our honor and our shame in this situation have two strange consequences.
achilles shouldnt fight hector. like merchants show bad stuff first. both honor & shame have 2 weird consequences
I see them not with my old eyes. What are they?
My old age makes me blind to what you're describing. What are these consequences?
I can't see what you mean with my old eyes. What are these two consequences?
what r these 2 consequences
What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him;
But he already is too insolent;
And it were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,
Why, then we do our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes—
Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
What honor our Achilles gets from Hector, if he wasn't proud, we'd all get with him; but he's already too arrogant; and it would be better to dry up in Africa's sun than in the pride and harsh scorn of his eyes, if he escaped Hector fairly. If he were defeated, then we'd crush our main belief in our best man. No, let's use a lottery; and, by trickery, let stupid Ajax draw the choice to fight Hector. Among ourselves give him the edge for the better man; for that will heal the great proud one, who brags in loud praise, and make him lower his crest, which is prouder than the rainbow bends. If the dull stupid Ajax comes out okay, we'll dress him up with voices of praise; if he loses, yet we still go under our belief that we have better men. But hit or miss, our plan's life takes this shape—Ajax chosen takes down Achilles' feathers.
Whatever honor Achilles gets from beating Hector, if he wasn't so arrogant, we'd all feel that honor; but he's already too full of himself; and it would be better to die in Africa's heat than to watch his arrogant pride and harsh sneering if he beats Hector clean. If he lost, we'd destroy the belief that he's our best. No, we use a lottery; and by trick, we get the dummy Ajax to draw the fighting spot against Hector. We tell ourselves that Ajax is the better choice; that'll heal the arrogant ego, the guy who gets loud applause, and make him drop his prideful crest that's prouder than a rainbow. If this dumb Ajax comes out alive, we'll celebrate him with praise; if he loses, we still maintain we've got better warriors. Either way, our plan works—Ajax picked for the fight brings down Achilles' pride.
if achilles beats hector we all feel good but hes too arrogant. if he loses we r crushed. lottery = dumb ajax fights hector. makes achilles less arrogant. win or lose our plan works
Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste thereof forthwith
To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.
Now, Ulysses, I'm starting to taste what your advice means; and I will show him a sample of it right away to Agamemnon. Let's go to him immediately. Two fighting dogs will control each other: pride alone must drive the dogs on, as if their bone were at stake.
Now, Ulysses, I'm starting to get what you're saying; and I'll give Agamemnon a preview of this plan right now. Let's go to him. Two aggressive dogs will fight each other: pride alone will make them attack, like they're fighting over a bone.
now i get it ulysses. lets tell agamemnon. 2 dogs fight each other - pride makes them go at it like its a bone
The Reckoning
This is the play's philosophical center on the Greek side — Ulysses argues that all order, cosmic and social, depends on hierarchy, and that Achilles's refusal to fight is tearing that order apart. It's a magnificent speech with a deeply ironic subtext: Ulysses is about to use manipulation and a rigged lottery to work around the very hierarchy he's praising. The scene ends not with restored order but with a scheme. The greatest speech on order in Shakespeare is delivered by its cleverest subverter.
If this happened today…
A company has been failing a major project for seven years. The CEO gives a speech about organizational structure and why chains of command matter. The CTO agrees. Then the strategy officer reveals that their best engineer has been in his office watching Netflix and roasting everyone in group chats, and their second-best engineer has been copying him. Their plan: promote the dumb engineer to the project to humiliate the smart one back into working. It's a brilliant plan. It's also completely absurd.