Ajax. Toad's stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? Ajax. The proclamation,— Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajux. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. Ajax. I say, the proclamation, Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him. Ajar. Mistress Thersites! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit... Ajax. You whoreson cur! Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! [Beating him. Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! do. Ajax. You dog! Ther. You scurvy lord! Ajax. You cur! [Beating him. Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you thus? How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man? Ther. You see him there, do you? Achil. Ay; what's the matter? Ther. Nay, look upon him. Achil. So I do; What's the matter? Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool. Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows for a peuny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, -who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of him. Achil. What? Ther. I say, this Ajax→→→→→ Achil. Nay, good Ajax. [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. Ther. Has not so much wit Achil. Nay, I must hold you. Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool! Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not he there; that he; look you there. Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?. Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites. Achil. What's the quarrel? Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I serve here voluntary. Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. Ther. Even so;-a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars.-Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. Achil. What, with me too, Thersites? Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor,-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, -yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars. Achil. What, what? Ther. Yes, good sooth; To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. Ther. "Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards. Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit. Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, [host: Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trash: Farewell. Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him? Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise, He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you :--I'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt. SCENE 11. TROY. A Room in PRIAM's Palace. Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Deliver Helen, and all damage else Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd Shall be struck off:-Hector, what say you to't? Dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, go; More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows? Tro. So great as our dread father, in a scale Of common ounces? will you with counters sum And buckle-in a waist most fathomless, With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame! Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest, You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your rea sons: You know, an enemy intends you harm; And reason flies the object of all harm: Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason, With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding. Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? Hect. But value dwells not in particular will 9 It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry, To make the service greater than the god; Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour: When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands Because we now are full. It was thought meet, |