THERSITES
Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally?
THERSITES
And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run
then? Were not that a botchy core?
THERSITES
Then there would come some matter from him;
I see none now.
AJAX
Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.
THERSITES
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted
lord!
AJAX
Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee
into handsomeness.
THERSITES
I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I
think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a
prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain
o' thy jade's tricks!
AJAX
Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
THERSITES
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
THERSITES
Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think.
AJAX
Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.
THERSITES
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.
THERSITES
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 bark'st at him.
THERSITES
Thou shouldst strike him.
THERSITES
He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
sailor breaks a biscuit.
THERSITES
Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more
brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You
scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, 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!
THERSITES
Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
ACHILLES
Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?
How now, Thersites! What's the matter, man?
THERSITES
You see him there, do you?
ACHILLES
Ay; what's the matter?
ACHILLES
So I do. What's the matter?
THERSITES
Nay, but regard him well.
THERSITES
But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever
you take him to be, he is Ajax.
THERSITES
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
THERSITES
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His
evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than
he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, 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.
THERSITES
Has not so much wit-
ACHILLES
Nay, I must hold you.
THERSITES
As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he
comes to fight.
THERSITES
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-
ACHILLES
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
THERSITES
No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it.
PATROCLUS
Good words, Thersites.
AJAX
I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the
proclamation, and he rails upon me.
THERSITES
I serve here voluntary.
ACHILLES
Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No
man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as
under an impress.
THERSITES
E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your
sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch
an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a
fusty nut with no kernel.
ACHILLES
What, with me too, Thersites?
THERSITES
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.
THERSITES
Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to-
AJAX
I shall cut out your tongue.
THERSITES
'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou
afterwards.
PATROCLUS
No more words, Thersites; peace!
THERSITES
I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall
I?
ACHILLES
There's for you, Patroclus.
THERSITES
I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more
to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave
the faction of fools.
ACHILLES
Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host,
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
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?
ACHILLES
I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his
man.
