SCENE I-Another part of the Grecian Camp. Enter AJAX and THERSITES. Ajax. Thersites Ther. Agamemnon Ajax. Thersites Ther. Did not the general run? Ajax. Dog-canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikes him. witted lord! Ajax. Speak then, thou vinewdst leaven,1 speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness. Ther. 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. Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strik'st me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation— Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajur. 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 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. Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun thee into shivers 2 with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You cur! Ther. Do, do. [Beating him. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego3 may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here but 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! Ajax. You dog! Ther. You scurvy lord! Ajax. You cur! [Beating him. Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, 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. So I do; what's the matter? Ther. Nay, but regard him well. Achil. Well! why I do so. 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. Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. for a I have bobbed his brain more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows 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-I'll tell you what I say of him. Achil. What? Ther. I say, this 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 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 tenor 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. 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 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! 4 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 host : Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, S Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him? Ajax. O, meaning you :-I will go learn more of it. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Troy. A Room in PRIAM's Palace. Shall be struck off:'-Hector, what say you to 't? Tro. Weigh you the worth and honour of a king |