Thersites.
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
Agamemnon—how if he had boils? full,
all over, generally?
-- 281 --
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
And those boils did run?—Say so,—did
not the general run then? were not that a botchy
core?
Ajax.
Dog,—
Ther.
Then would come some matter from him;
I see none now.
Ajax.
Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not
hear? Feel then.
[Strikes him.
Ther.
The plague of Greece upon thee7 note
, thou
mongrel beef-witted lord8 note
!
-- 282 --
Ajax.
Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak9 note
:
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 tricks1 note!
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 Greece2 note. When
-- 283 --
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 him3 note
.
Ajax.
Mistress Thersites!
Ther.
Thou shouldest strike him.
Ajax.
Cobloaf4 note
!
Ther.
He would pun thee into shivers5 note
with his
fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
Ajax.
You whoreson cur!
[Beating him.
Ther.
Do, do.
Ajax.
Thou stool for a witch6 note!
-- 284 --
Ther.
Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou
hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an
assinego7 note
may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant
ass! thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou
art bought and sold8 note
among those of any wit, like
-- 285 --
a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me9 note, 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.
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
mater1 note is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow.
-- 286 --
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 voluntary2 note; 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
-- 287 --
your brains3 note
; '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 nails4 note 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 me5 note
, shall I?
-- 288 --
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 proclaimed through all our host:
That Hector, by the first6 note 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.
[Exeunt.
-- 289 --
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
