Calchas is businesslike and transactional. He itemizes his losses ('What time, acquaintance, custom, and condition / Made tame and most familiar to my nature') like a ledger. He speaks in the language of debt and repayment. His plea for his daughter is framed as a business negotiation.
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.
Now, Princes, because of the service I have provided, The advantages that this moment offers push me to speak openly And ask for a reward. Consider this: Through my ability to see what will happen, I have abandoned Troy, left all my possessions behind, Taken on the name and shame of a traitor, and exposed myself From secure and comfortable circumstances To uncertain fortunes, separating myself from everything That time, familiarity, habit, and circumstance Had made comfortable and natural to me. And here, to serve you, I have become Like a stranger to the world, strange, unfamiliar— I ask you, as a small taste of what you've promised, To give me now a small benefit From the many rewards you say you've registered For me in your future plans.
Okay, Princes, I've done you a big favor. Now I need to cash in on it. I've given up everything—Troy, my stuff, my reputation, all of it—to help you out. I'm basically starting from scratch, completely out of my element here. So I'm asking you to come through with some of the rewards you said you'd give me. Even just a little something to show you're serious.
hey princes, i left everything for you now it's time to pay up give me something from what you promised
Agamemnon is efficient and diplomatic. He speaks in the language of command and request. He grants Calchas's petition without hesitation — not from kindness but from calculation. Antenor is strategic, and Cressida is the price.
What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand.
What are you asking of us, Trojan? State your demand.
So what do you want from us? Just ask.
what do u want
You have a Trojan 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.
You have a Trojan prisoner called Antenor, Whom you captured yesterday; Troy values him greatly. You have often thanked me for this— You have repeatedly wanted my Cressida in a fair exchange, But Troy has consistently refused; however, this Antenor Is, I know, so important in their affairs That all their negotiations stall without him. Without his guidance, their plans go nowhere, and they will almost Give us a prince of royal blood, a son of Priam, In exchange for him. Let him be sent, great Princes, And he will purchase my daughter; and her return to Troy Will completely cancel out all the service I have given In the most acceptable pain.
You captured this Trojan named Antenor yesterday, and Troy wants him back badly—like, really badly. You've been asking for my daughter Cressida in exchange forever, but Troy always says no. But Antenor? He's so crucial to everything they do that without him nothing gets done. They're even willing to trade a royal son of Priam for him. Just send him back, and he'll buy my daughter's freedom. Getting her back will wipe out everything I've done for you.
antenor is important to troy they'll trade a prince for him send him + my daughter is free
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 tomorrow
Be answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready.
Let Diomedes take him And bring us Cressida here. Calchas will have Everything he asks of us. Good Diomedes, Prepare yourself well for this exchange; Also, bring us word if Hector will tomorrow Accept his challenge. Ajax is prepared.
Diomedes, you take Antenor back and bring Cressida here to us. Calchas gets whatever he wants. Make sure you're all set for this trade, and while you're at it, find out if Hector will fight Ajax tomorrow. Ajax is ready to go.
diomedes take antenor back get cressida ask hector if he'll fight ajax tomorrow
This shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden
Which I am proud to bear.
I will do this; and it is a responsibility That I am honored to carry.
I'll take care of it. It's an honor to handle this for you.
i got it, happy to do it
Ulysses is the play's true Machiavellian. He manipulates through rhetoric and psychology. His plan is explicit: 'Pride hath no other glass / To show itself but pride.' He uses Achilles' own psychology against him.
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.
Achilles stands at the entrance of his tent. Let our general pass by him as if a stranger, As if he had forgotten him; and all of you Princes, Show no respect or interest in him. I will come last. It's likely he'll question me Why these unfavorable eyes look at him, why he's been passed over. If he does, I have ridicule with healing power To use between your coldness and his pride, Which his own desire will want to drink. It may help. Pride has no other mirror To see itself except through pride; for humble knees Feed arrogance and are what the proud man needs.
Achilles is at his tent entrance. When we pass by him, ignore him completely—act like you've forgotten he exists. Don't look at him, don't acknowledge him. I'll hang back. When he asks me why everyone's avoiding him, I'll have something to say that'll mess with his head. He'll eat it up because his pride needs the attention. And here's the thing: pride feeds on itself. It only sees itself through itself. That's why acting like we don't care will hurt him more than anything.
ignore achilles when we walk by he won't know what hit him pride feeds on pride, ignore it and it dies
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.
We will carry out your plan and put on A manner of estrangement as we pass by. Each lord will do the same; either don't greet him, Or greet him with disdain, which will shake him more Than if you didn't look at him at all. I will lead the way.
We'll do exactly that. We'll all act like he doesn't exist as we walk past. Either ignore him completely or treat him like he's beneath you. Either way, it'll mess with him way more than just not looking. Let's go.
we'll ignore him or be cold that'll hurt more than a hard pass
What comes the general to speak with me?
You know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy.
Why does the general come to speak with me? You know my mind. I will not fight against Troy.
What's the general doing here? You know how I feel. I'm not fighting Troy.
i'm not fighting troy
What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?
What does Achilles say? Does he want anything from us?
What's Achilles saying? Does he need something?
what's he want
Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
Would you want anything from the general, sir?
Is there anything you want to say to the general?
anything for agamemnon
No.
No.
no.
no.
Nothing, my lord.
Nothing, my lord.
nothing, my lord.
nothing, my lord.
The better.
The better.
the better.
the better.
Good day, good day.
I wish you well, and well again.
See you around.
bye
How do you? How do you?
How are you? How are you?
How's it going?
hey
What, does the cuckold scorn me?
What, does the man whose wife was stolen from him scorn me?
Is Menelaus really looking down on me right now?
menelaus is cold to me lol
How now, Patroclus?
How now, Patroclus?
how now, patroclus?
how now, patroclus?
Good morrow, Ajax.
Good morrow, Ajax.
good morrow, ajax.
good morrow, ajax.
Ha?
Ha?
ha?
ha?
Good morrow.
Good morrow.
good morrow.
good morrow.
Ay, and good next day too.
Yes, and a good day tomorrow too.
Yeah, and good luck to you tomorrow too.
good luck tomorrow
Calchas's request to trade his daughter for Antenor is presented as a rational transaction, and Agamemnon grants it immediately. There is no hesitation, no moral question. Cressida is simply a commodity — her strategic value equal to a Trojan prisoner. The cruelty is that this transaction is entirely logical within the economics of war. Antenor is strategically crucial; Cressida is useful as leverage. Calchas has sacrificed everything to defect, and the only currency he has left is his daughter. The scene shows how war reduces people to their exchange value. Cressida's tragedy is sealed not by passion or fate, but by her father's calculation.
What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?
What do these men mean? Do they not know Achilles?
What's wrong with these guys? Don't they know who I am?
don't they know me
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.
They pass by strangely. They were used to bend, To send their smiles ahead of them to Achilles, To approach as humbly as they were used to crawl To holy altars.
They're acting weird. They used to bow to you, throw their smiles at you, come crawling up like they were approaching a god. Now look at them.
they used to bow to u now they just walk by
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!
What, am I poor all of a sudden? Greatness, once it loses favor with fortune, Must also lose favor with men. What the fallen person is, He will read as quickly in others' eyes As he feels in his own fall. People are like butterflies— They only show their colorful wings in the summer; And a person, just by being human, Has no honor unless he has honors That come from outside himself: position, wealth, and favor, Accidental prizes just as much as earned ones. When these fall away, as they're unstable things, The love that rested on them becomes just as unstable, One pulls down another, and together They die in the fall. But that's not true for me: Fortune and I are friends; I still enjoy In full measure everything I possessed before Except these men's looks. They seem to find Something in me not worth such close attention As they used to give. Here comes Ulysses. I'll interrupt his reading. Hello, Ulysses!
What, did I go broke overnight? Here's the thing: once you stop being lucky, people stop caring about you. You see it in their faces as soon as you feel it yourself. People are like butterflies—they only flash their wings in summer. And honestly, nobody has honor just for existing. You only matter if you have things that make you matter: your position, your money, your status—stuff that could fall away any second. And when it does, all that love and respect? It goes with it. People fall away like dominoes. But me? Fortune and I get along fine. I've still got everything I had before—except these guys stopped looking at me the same way. They're seeing something in me that isn't worth their attention anymore. Oh, there's Ulysses reading. Let me bother him.
fortune changes, people turn cold they're not looking at me the same let me interrupt ulysses
Now, great Thetis’ son!
Now, you son of the great goddess Thetis!
Hey there, Achilles!
achilles
What are you reading?
What holds your attention?
Whatcha reading?
what u reading
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.
Some strange writer here Tells me that a person—no matter how many talents they have, No matter what they have or lack— Cannot be proud to have what he possesses, Nor does he feel what he owns except through reflection. When his good qualities shine on others They warm them, and those others send that warmth back To the first person.
Some strange guy is writing about how nobody can actually know their own worth or feel what they own unless it comes back to them somehow. Like, your good qualities have to shine on other people, and they have to reflect that back to you before you can feel anything.
a writer saying you can't know yourself only through how others see u
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.
This is not strange, Ulysses. The beauty that lives in a face The person who has it doesn't know, but recommends itself To other people's eyes; nor does the eye itself— That purest organ of sight—see itself, Not by looking at itself; but eye to eye opposed Greet each other with each other's appearance; Because looking doesn't turn back to itself Until it has traveled and is reflected there Where it can see itself. This is not strange at all.
That's not weird at all. Beauty in your face? You can't see it yourself—it's only real because other people see it and react to it. Same with your eyes—they can't see themselves unless they're looking at each other. Two eyes looking at each other—that's when seeing happens. Looking has to go out into the world and come back before it can see itself. It's all about reflection.
beauty is real only if someone else sees it your eyes can't see themselves only through reflection
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 the 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 tomorrow—
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 shrieking.
I don't disagree with that idea— It's familiar—but I'm concerned with what the author means. In his argument, he clearly proves That no man owns anything, Although he contains much, Until he shares his qualities with others. Nor does he know his own qualities Until he sees them formed in the approval That comes back to him; which, like an arch, Echoes the voice back; or like a steel gate Facing the sun, receives and reflects back His image and his heat. I was deeply absorbed in this, And I immediately thought Of the unknown Ajax. Heaven, what a man is there! A mere horse that has no idea what he is! Nature, what things there are Most worthless in regard and yet valuable in use! And what things again most valued in judgment Yet worthless in reality! Now we will see tomorrow— An act that mere chance gives to him— Ajax becomes famous. Oh heavens, what some men do, While others do nothing! How some men creep along in unpredictable Fortune's hall, While others play the fools in her sight! How one man eats into another man's status, While the other man's pride goes hungry! Look at these Greek lords!—they're already Clapping that big oaf Ajax on the shoulder, As if his foot were on brave Hector's chest, And great Troy shrieking.
I'm not arguing with the theory—it makes sense—but here's where the author is going: nobody actually owns anything about themselves until they give it to other people. You don't know your own talents until other people show them back to you like a mirror, like the echo of a voice or sunlight bouncing off a steel gate. You see your own image reflected back. That's what grabbed me—and suddenly I thought of Ajax. This guy Ajax is nothing, just a big horse that doesn't even know what he is. But nature's weird like that: some things are worthless to look at but valuable in action, and other things look great but are actually worthless. Tomorrow we'll see: some random chance moment throws Ajax into the spotlight and suddenly he's famous. That's what kills me about life. Some guys do amazing things while others sit around doing nothing. Some guys have to crawl through life on fortune's bad side, while others are idiots and she loves them anyway. One guy eats into another guy's reputation while the second guy starves. And look at these Greek lords right now—they're already putting their hands on dumb Ajax's shoulder like he already beat Hector and Troy's already screaming.
nobody knows themselves only through what others show back think of ajax—nobody yet tomorrow he's a hero that's fortune
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?
I believe it. They walked past me Like rich people pass beggars: neither said anything good to me Nor looked at me. What, have my deeds been forgotten?
I see it. They walked right past me like I'm a beggar. No nice words, no looks. Did everyone just forget everything I've done?
they walked past me like i'm nobody what about everything i did
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 comer. 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 gauds,
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.
Time has, my lord, a bag on his back, In which he puts charity for forgetting, A large creature of ingratitude. Those scraps are good deeds from the past, which are eaten As fast as they are made, forgotten as soon As completed. Persistence, dear my lord, Keeps honor bright. Once something is done, it hangs Completely out of fashion, like old armor In monumental mockery. Take the direct path. Honor travels on a path so narrow— Where only one person can walk at a time. Keep the path, Because competition has a thousand sons Who chase one by one. If you step aside, Or move away from the straight road, Like a tide rushing in they all pass by And leave you behind; Or like a great warrior who fell first, Lie there for the back ranks to step on, Overrun and trampled. So whatever they do now, Even if it's less than your past deeds, will seem greater. Because Time is like a host at a party Who quickly shakes hands with the guest who's leaving; And with arms stretched out, as if he would fly, Grasps the person entering. The welcome always smiles, And goodbye leaves sighing. So, let not honor ask For payment for what it once was. Because beauty, intelligence, High birth, strength, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity—all these things Are subject to jealous and cruel Time. One touch of human nature makes the whole world related— That everyone equally loves what is newly made, Even though it's built from old material, And gives more praise to dust with a little gold on it Than to gold that's been tarnished with dust. The present moment loves what is present now. So don't be surprised, great and complete man, That all the Greeks are starting to worship Ajax, Because things in movement catch the eye faster Than things that don't move. The attention was once on you, And it could still be, and it could be again, If you didn't bury yourself alive And lock your reputation in your tent, Whose glorious deeds only in these fields lately Made even the gods jealous and competitive, And drove the great Mars to take sides.
Look, Time is like this guy with a bag where he throws everyone's good deeds to get forgotten. Your past achievements? They disappear as fast as they happen. Everyone forgets them immediately. You want to keep your honor bright? You have to keep doing things. Once you stop, it's game over—your reputation gets locked in a museum where people laugh at it. This is the thing: staying on top is like walking a narrow path where only one person can fit. Keep moving forward, because there are a thousand guys right behind you waiting to pass you. If you step off the path, they all rush past like a tide and you're stuck in back. It's like being the first warrior to fall—everyone just walks over you. Whatever they do now, even if it's nothing like your past, will look better. Time is like a party host who's all smiles for the new guests but barely shakes hands with the ones leaving. Goodbye sounds sad, hello sounds happy. Don't expect your honor to get paid for what it used to be. Beauty, brains, good birth, strength, hard work, love, friendship, charity—all that stuff gets eaten up by time and jealousy. One thing about being human: everyone loves whatever's brand new, even if it's made from old stuff. You'll praise a bit of dust with some gold on it more than actual gold tarnished by dust. People only care about what's happening now. So why are you surprised the Greeks are worshipping Ajax? Moving things catch your eye faster than still things. The buzz was on you once. It could come back if you didn't shut yourself in your tent and lock up your reputation. Your recent deeds made even the gods jealous and took Mars's side.
time forgets everything stop moving = forgotten keep going or fall behind people love what's new you're yesterday's news
Of this my privacy
I have strong reasons.
I have strong reasons for my privacy.
I've got good reasons for staying here.
i have my reasons
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.
But the reasons against your privacy Are more powerful and honorable. It is known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.
But the reasons you should get out there are stronger and more honorable. Look, everyone knows you're in love with one of Priam's daughters.
everyone knows you're in love with polyxena
Ha! known!
Ha! known!
ha! known!
ha! known!
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.
Is that surprising? A careful government Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; Finds the bottom of the deep ocean; Stays with thought, and almost like the gods, Reveals thoughts in their silent depths. There is a mystery—that relations Should never touch—in the soul of the state, That has an action more divine Than breath or pen can express. All the dealings you have had with Troy Are perfectly known to us as to you, my lord. And it would be much better for Achilles To strike down Hector than Polyxena. But it will shame young Pyrrhus at home, When fame will sound her trumpet in our island, And all the Greek girls will sing skipping, 'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; But our great Ajax bravely beat him down.' Farewell, my lord. I speak as your friend. The fool slides on the ice you should break.
Is that a surprise? An intelligent government knows where every bit of gold is, finds the bottom of the ocean, keeps pace with thought, and almost like gods, sees what's hidden in silence. There are state secrets—things that relations shouldn't know about—that work better than anything you can say or write. Everything you've done with Troy is just as known to us as it is to you. It would be way better for your reputation if you beat Hector instead of being famous for loving Polyxena. And when stories get back home to Greece and all the girls are singing about how Ajax beat Hector while Achilles was stuck in his tent, that's going to hurt your kid's feelings. So look, I'm telling you this as your friend: get back in the fight. The fool is the guy who slips on the ice that a smart person would break.
everyone knows about polyxena better to beat hector get back in the fight
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 air.
Achilles, I have tried to convince you of this before. A woman who has become rude and masculine Is not more hated than an unmanly man When war is happening. I am condemned for this. They think my reluctance for war And your great love for me keeps you here. Come on, wake up yourself, and the weak god of love Shall release his loving hold from your neck, And like a drop of water from a lion's mane, Be shaken away into nothing.
I've said this before, but listen: a woman who's gotten too tough and manly is not hated more than a guy who's too soft when there's war happening. People blame me for you staying here. They think I'm making you soft and you're staying because you love me. Get it together. That weak god of love needs to let go of you. He should fall off like a drop of water off a lion's mane.
we need to fight people think i'm making u soft throw off this love thing
Shall Ajax fight with Hector?
Will Ajax fight Hector?
So Ajax is actually going to fight Hector?
ajax fighting hector
Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.
Yes, and perhaps he will win much glory from him.
Yeah, and he might actually get famous doing it.
yep, he'll get glory
I see my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gor’d.
I see my reputation is in danger. My fame is badly wounded.
I'm starting to see my reputation falling apart. My fame is getting destroyed.
my rep is dying
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.
Be careful, then. Those wounds that men give themselves heal badly. Failure to do what must be done Seals an agreement to serious danger. And danger, like a fever, secretly infects Even when people sit idle in the sun.
Watch out then. When you hurt yourself, it doesn't heal well. If you don't do what you need to do, you're signing up for trouble. Danger creeps up on you like a fever, even when you think you're just relaxing.
wounds u give yourself don't heal if u don't act, danger finds u anyway
Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus.
I’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
T’invite the Trojan 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.
Go call Thersites here, good Patroclus. I will send the fool to Ajax and ask him To invite the Trojan lords, after the fight, To see us here without our armor. I have a longing like a woman has, A hunger that I'm sick with, To see great Hector in his clothes of peace. To talk with him, and to see his face, Even until I've had my fill of looking.
Go get Thersites. I'll send that joker to Ajax to set up a meeting. After the fight, I want Hector to come visit me without his armor. I'm dying to see him—I mean, I'm obsessed with seeing what he looks like when he's not ready for war, just to talk to him and look at him until I've seen enough.
get thersites i want to see hector after the fight without his armor
A labour sav’d!
Work saved!
Well, that saves me some effort!
saved me a call
A wonder!
A wonder!
a wonder!
a wonder!
What?
What?
what?
what?
Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself.
Ajax is walking around the battlefield searching for himself.
Ajax is just walking around the field looking for himself.
ajax looking for himself
How so?
How so?
how so?
how so?
He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically
proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing.
He must fight alone tomorrow against Hector, and he's so confident About getting beaten up heroically that he babbles nonsense.
He's fighting Hector one-on-one tomorrow, and he's so proud about getting his butt kicked that he's just talking garbage.
ajax is so hyped about losing tomorrow he won't stop talking
Ulysses' strategy is almost disturbingly modern: manipulate someone's pride by showing them indifference, and they will move heaven and earth to restore their sense of importance. The plan works because Achilles' entire identity is built on recognition and superiority. By withdrawing recognition, Ulysses doesn't destroy Achilles — he wounds the one thing that matters to him. The strategy is explained with chilling clarity: 'Pride hath no other glass / To show itself but pride.' Achilles will see his arrogance reflected in their arrogance, and he will want to prove them wrong by fighting harder. It's psychological manipulation at its most elegant — using the victim's own psychology against him. By scene's end, Achilles will be re-motivated to fight, not out of honor or strategy, but out of wounded narcissism.
How can that be?
In what way is that possible?
How's that possible?
how so
Why, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand;
ruminates 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, and ’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.
Why, he walks up and down like a peacock—one step and a stop. He thinks like a bartender who has no math except her head to add up The bill, bites his lip with a careful expression, as if to say, 'There is intelligence in this head, and it would come out'; And there is, but it sits in him as cold as fire in flint, Which won't show without hitting it. The man is ruined Forever. If Hector doesn't break his neck in the fight, He'll break it himself with pride. He doesn't know me. I said 'Good morning, Ajax,' and he answered 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What do you think of a man who mistakes me for the general? He's become a fish on dry land, unable to speak, a monster. A curse on pride! A man can wear it on both sides, like a leather jacket.
He's strutting around like a peacock—step, stop, step, stop. He's thinking like a bartender adding up the check in her head, biting his lip like he's got something smart to say, like, 'Oh, I'm so clever, if only I could spit it out.' Yeah, he's got brains, but they're stuck in there like cold fire in flint—they won't come out unless you hit him. This guy is completely done for. Even if Hector doesn't kill him, he'll kill himself with his own stupidity. He doesn't even know who I am. I said 'Good morning, Ajax' and he said 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What kind of guy mistakes me for the commanding general? He's turned into a fish out of water, completely mute, a total monster. Pride is a curse! You can wear it inside out or right side out—it all looks the same.
ajax is a total idiot walks around like a peacock says hi back to the wrong guy pride makes u dumb
Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
You must be my messenger to him, Thersites.
You're going to be my messenger to Ajax.
go talk to ajax for me
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.
Me? Why, he won't answer anybody; he refuses to respond. Speaking Is for poor people. He keeps his tongue in his arms. I will put on his Appearance. Let Patroclus make his requests to me, and you will see The mime of Ajax.
Me? Come on, he won't talk to anybody. He's given up on words. Poor people talk, he says. I'll dress up like Ajax for you. Have Patroclus talk to me and you'll see me act out what Ajax is like.
he won't talk let me do his impression
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,
Agamemnon. Do this.
To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly beg the brave Ajax to invite The most courageous Hector to come without his armor to my tent, and to get Safe passage for him from the generous and most famous Many-times-honored Commander of the Greek army, Agamemnon. Do this.
Go to Ajax, Patroclus. Tell him I'm asking the courageous Ajax to please invite the mighty Hector to come see me in my tent without armor. And get him safe passage from the great Agamemnon, the amazing commander. Got it?
ask ajax to invite hector here without armor Agamemnon will keep him safe
Jove bless great Ajax!
May the gods bless great Ajax!
Bless you, Ajax!
bless ajax
Hum!
Hum!
hum!
hum!
I come from the worthy Achilles—
I arrive on behalf of the great Achilles—
I'm here from Achilles—
from achilles
Ha!
Ha!
ha!
ha!
Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent—
Who humbly asks you to invite Hector to his tent—
Who's asking you to bring Hector to see him—
invite hector to his tent
Hum!
Hum!
hum!
hum!
And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.
And to get safe passage from Agamemnon.
And Agamemnon will keep him safe.
and agamemnon has his back
Agamemnon?
Agamemnon?
agamemnon?
agamemnon?
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Yes, sir.
yeah
Ha!
Ha!
ha!
ha!
What you say to’t?
What do you say to that?
So what do you think?
what u say
God buy you, with all my heart.
Goodbye to you, with all my heart.
See you around.
bye
Your answer, sir.
Your answer, sir.
your answer, sir.
your answer, sir.
If tomorrow 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.
If tomorrow is a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go One way or the other. In any case, he will pay Before he gets me.
If tomorrow's nice weather, by eleven in the morning things will go one way or another. Either way, he's going to have to work for me.
tomorrow by 11, something happens either way he pays first
Your answer, sir.
Your answer, sir.
your answer, sir.
your answer, sir.
Fare ye well, with all my heart.
Goodbye to you, with all my heart.
Take it easy.
bye
Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
But he's not actually in this mood, is he?
But that's not really how he's acting, right?
he's not like that tho
No, but out of 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.
No, but out of tune like this. What kind of music will be in him when Hector has Knocked out his brains, I don't know. But I'm sure there will be none, unless The musician god Apollo uses his tendons to make strings.
Nope, he's totally silent. I don't know what music will come out of him when Hector smashes his skull. I'm pretty sure nothing, unless Apollo the musician uses his body parts to make instrument strings.
he won't say anything when hector beats him unless his body becomes an instrument
Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.
Come, you will carry a letter to him right away.
Come on, you're taking a letter to him right now.
take this letter to him
Let me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature.
Let me bring another to his horse; that creature is more capable.
Let me take another one to his horse instead—that one's smarter.
send the letter to his horse instead
My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d;
And I myself see not the bottom of it.
My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred; And I myself cannot see the bottom of it.
My head's all confused, like somebody stirred up a fountain. I can't even see what's at the bottom anymore.
my mind is messed up i can't see through it
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.
I wish your mind were clear again, so I could water a donkey from it. I'd rather be a parasite living on a sheep than be someone with such foolish bravery.
I wish your mind weren't so messed up—then I could use it to water a donkey. Honestly, I'd rather be a flea living on a sheep than be as stupid-but-confident as you are.
ur mind's so messed up id rather be a tick on a sheep than whatever u are
The Reckoning
The scene is a masterclass in political and psychological manipulation. Calchas cynically exploits the war to reclaim his daughter. Agamemnon processes transactions like a merchant. And Ulysses engineers Achilles' humiliation with surgical precision — using shame as a weapon. The play shows us the mechanisms of power: currency (prisoners), leverage (Antenor's strategic value), and psychological manipulation (ignoring Achilles to awaken his pride). Everything is calculable except the human cost. Cressida is being traded like a commodity; Achilles is being tortured by an elaborate show of indifference.
If this happened today…
A boardroom meeting where a defector negotiates his reward by offering his estranged daughter as collateral. Meanwhile, in another part of the building, a strategy session plans to destroy a rival through calculated public humiliation. Both transactions are presented as necessary and rational.