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 murrain1 o'thy jade's tricks! Ajax. Toads-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. Ajax. 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. Ajax. Mistress Thersites! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! o Ther. He would pun3 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! 4 [Beating him. Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows: an assinico 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 1 In The Tempest, Caliban says, "The red plague rid you." 2 Cobloaf is, perhaps, equivalent to ill-shapen-lump. Minsheu says, a cobloaf is a little loaf made with a round head, such as cobirons which support the fire. 3 i. e. pound; still in use provincially. 4 From the Spanish asnico, a young or little ass; a word, indeed, entirely similar in sound, which seems to have been adopted into our language to signify a silly ass, a stupid fellow. 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. 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. 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? Ther. I say, this Ajax Achil. Nay, good Ajax. [AJAX offers to strike him, ACHILLES Ther. Has not so much wit Achil. Nay, I must hold you. interposes. Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 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 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. 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' brach1 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. 1 Both the old copies read brooch, which may be right; for we find monile and bulla in the dictionaries interpreted "a bosse, an hart; a brooch, or jewell of a round compasse to hang about ones neck." The term brach was suggested by Rowe, and is "a mannerly name for all hound-bitches." Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host; That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, Ajax. O, meaning you ;-I'll go learn more of it. 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 honor, loss of time, travel, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed Shall be struck off-Hector, what say you to't? Dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows? The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches Let Helen go. Since the first sword was drawn about this question, Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,1 Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours. 1 Disme is properly tenths or tithes ; but dismes is here used for tens. If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 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; Or like a star disorbed ?-Nay, if we talk of reason, With this crammed reason; reason and respect Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? Tro. 1 i. e. that greatness to which no measure bears any proportion. |