&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you thus?— How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;You see him there, do you?&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Ay; what's the matter?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;Nay, look upon him.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;So I do; what's the matter?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;Nay, but regard him well.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Well, why I do so.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;But yet you look not well upon him; for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;I know that, fool.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;Ay, but that fool knows not himself.&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;Therefore I beat thee.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;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 tell you what I say of him:&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;What?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I say, this Ajax—&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Nay, good Ajax.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;Has not so much wit—&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Nay, I must hold you.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Peace, fool!&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there; that he; look you there.&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;O thou damn'd cur! I shall—&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Will you set your wit to a fool's?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.&brquo;

&blquo;Pat.

&blquo;Good words, Thersites.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;What's the quarrel?&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenure of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I serve thee not.&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;Well, go to, go to.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I serve here voluntary.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;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.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;What, with me too, Thersites?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;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.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;What, what?&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;Yes, good sooth; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!&brquo;

&blquo;Aja.

&blquo;I shall cut out your tongue.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much wit as thou, afterwards.&brquo;

&blquo;Pat.

&blquo;No more words, Thersites; peace.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I will hold my peace when Achilles's brach bids me, shall I?&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.

&blquo;There's for you, Patroclus.&brquo;

&blquo;The.

&blquo;I will see you hang'd, like clot-poles, ere I come any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.&brquo;

&blquo;Pat.

&blquo;A good riddance.&brquo;

&blquo;Ach.
&blquo;Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host:
&blquo;That Hector, by the first hour of the sun,
&blquo;Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
&blquo;To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms,
&blquo;That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare
&blquo;Maintain—I know not what; 'tis trash. Farewel.

&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Farewel. Who shall answer him?

&blquo;Ach.
&blquo;I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise,
&blquo;He knew his man. [Exeunt Ach. and Pat.

&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exit. SCENE II. Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace* ^note. 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, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war,—
Shall be strook off: Hector, what say you to't?

Hec.
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; nor 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 vast proportion of his infinite?
Or buckle-in a waste 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. &blquo;Here are your reasons:
&blquo;You know, an enemy intends you harm;
&blquo;You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
&blquo;And reason flies the object of all harm:
&blquo;Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
&blquo;A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
&blquo;The very wings of reason to his heels;
&blquo;And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
&blquo;Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason,
&blquo;Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour
&blquo;Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
&blquo;With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
&blquo;Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

&blquo;Hec.
&blquo;Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
&blquo;The holding.

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;What is aught, but as 'tis valu'd?

&blquo;Hec.
&blquo;But value dwells not in particular will;
&blquo;It holds his estimate and dignity
&blquo;As well wherein 'tis precious of itself,
&blquo;As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
&blquo;To make the service greater than the god;
&blquo;And the will doats, that is inclinable
&blquo;To what infectiously itself affects,
&blquo;Without some image of the affected's merit.

&blquo;Tro.
&blquo;I take to-day a wife, and my election
&blquo;Is led on in the conduct of my will;
&blquo;My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
&blquo;Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
&blquo;Of will and judgment; how may I avoid,
&blquo;Although my will distaste what it elected,
&blquo;The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
&blquo;To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
&blquo;We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
&blquo;When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
&blquo;We do not throw in unrespective place,
&blquo;Because we now are full.&brquo; It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full consent belly'd 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 pale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd 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 cry'd—Go, go)
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
And cry'd—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 stoln what we do fear to keep!
Base thieves, unworthy of a thing so stoln;
That in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!

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!

Hec.
'Tis Cassandra. Enter Cassandra wildly.

Cas.
Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Hec.
Peace, sister, peace.

Cas.
Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkl'd old,
Soft infancy, that nothing can'st 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. [Exit Cassandra† ^note.

Hec.
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.

Pri.
Paris, you speak
Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So to be valiant, is no praise at all.

Par.
Sir, I propose not meerly to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up
On terms of base compulsion? can it be,
That so degenerate a strain as this
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There's not the meanest spirit on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended; nor none so noble,
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd,
Where Helen is the subject: then, I say,
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Hec.
Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well;
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy:
The reasons, you alledge, do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood,
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure, and revenge,
Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves,
All dues be render'd to their owners; now
What nearer debt in all humanity,
Than wife is to the husband? if this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection;
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benummed wills, resist the same;
There is a law in each well-order'd nation,
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory:
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,—
As, it is known, she is,—these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To have her back return'd: Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong† ^note,
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless,
My spritely brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
Upon our joint and several dignities.

Tro.
Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood

Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And fame, in time to come, canonize us:
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory,
As smiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revenue.

Hec.
I am yours,
You valiant off-spring of great Priamus.—
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:
I was advertis'd, their great general slept,
Whilst emulation in the army crept;
This, I presume, will wake him† ^note. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Greek Camp. Before Achilles's tent. Enter Thersites.

The.

How now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction! 'would, it were otherwise; that I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me: 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles,—a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken 'till these two undermine it, the walls will stand 'till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunderdarter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Caduceus; if ye take not that little little less-than-little wit from them that they have! which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing the massy iron, and cutting the web. After this,

the vengeance on the whole camp! &blquo;or, rather, the bone-ach! for that, methinks, is the curse dependant on those that war for a placket.&brquo; I have said my prayers! and devil, Envy, say amen. What ho! my lord Achilles!

Pat.

Who's there? Thersites? Good Thersites, come in and rail.

The.

If I could have remember'd a gilt counterfeit, thou would'st not have slipt out of my contemplation: but it is no matter, thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! &blquo;Let thy blood be thy direction 'till thy death! then if she, that lays thee out, says, —thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen.&brquo; Where's Achilles* ^note?

Pat.

What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?

The.

Ay; the heavens hear me!

Ach.

Who's there?

Pat.

Thersites, my lord.

Ach.

Where, where?—Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not serv'd thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?

The.

Thy commander, Achilles.—Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Pat.

Thy lord, Thersites: Then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyself?

The.

Thy knower, Patroclus: Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?

Pat.

Thou may'st tell, that know'st.

Ach.

O, tell, tell.

The.

I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool.

Pat.

You rascal!

The.

Peace, fool; I have not done.

Ach.

He is a privileg'd man.—Proceed, Thersites.

The.

Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.

Ach.

Derive this; come.

The.

Agamemnon is a fool, to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; and Patroclus is a fool positive† ^note.

Pat.

Why am I a fool?

The.

Make that demand of thy Creator; it suffices me, thou art.—Look you, who comes here?