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Ajax. Do not, porpentine,* 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.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!

Ther. Thou shouldest 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!

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. Ay, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

1

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. I have bobbed 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.

Achil. What?

* Porcupine.

† Crusty, uneven loaf.

+ Pound.

There used to be a mode of punishing witches, by tying them cross

[blocks in formation]

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 pro

clamation, 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 elset here 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' bracht bids me,

shall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any Be more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Patr. A good riddance.

Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our host:

That Hector, by the first 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?
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.
* Voluntarily.

† A small scenting hound.

Exit. You

To

You

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[Exeunt.

1

SCENE II.- Troy. A Room in PRIAM'S Palace. Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage else

As honour, loss of time, travel, expense,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed
In hot digestion of this cormorant war,

Shall be struck off :-Hector, what say you to't?

Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, As far as toucheth my particular, yet,

Dread Priam,

There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows?
Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,*
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:
If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother!

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father, in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum

The past-proportion of his infinite ?

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 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,
Here are your reasons:

You fur your gloves with reason.
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts

* Tenths.

With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect *
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

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;

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
And the will dotes, that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects, †
Without some image of the affected merit.

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will:
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: How may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I shose? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective § sieve,
Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath with full consent bellied his sails;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him service; he touch'd the ports desir'd;
And, for an old aunt, || whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
Why keep we her, the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launched above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cried-Go, go),
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
And cried-Inestimable!) why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate;
And do a deed that fortune never did, **
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen,
That in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!

* Caution.

+ Shrink from.

† That creates the excellence it admires. § Common basket.

Priam's sister, Hesione.

** Be more changeable than fortune.

The opposite of fresh.

Cas. [within]. Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noise? what shriek is this?

Tro. "Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

Cas. [within]. Cry, Trojans!

Hect. It is Cassandra.

Enter CASSANDRA, raving.

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes,

And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Hect. Peace, sister, peace.

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders,

Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, * burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe:

Cry, cry, Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

Hect. Now youthful Troilus, do not these high strains

Of divination in our sister work

Some touches of remorse? or is your blood
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Can qualify the same?

Tro. Why, brother Hector,
We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Cassandra's mad: her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste† the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons:
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain!

Par. Else might the world convince § of levity
As well my undertakings, as your counsels;
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms?
What propugnation || is in one man's valour,
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? yet, I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done

Nor faint in the pursuit.

[Exit.

* Hecuba, when pregnant with Paris, dreamed she was about to be

delivered of a firebrand.

To set it off.

§ Convict.

+ Change to the worse.

Defence.

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