SCENE I.
The same. Another Part of it.
Enter Thersites, Ajax following.
&blquo;Ajax.
&blquo;Thersites,—
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Agamemnon,—how if he had biles? full, all
over generally?&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Thersites,—&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;And those biles did run? Say so, did not the
general run then? were not that a botchy core?&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Dog,—&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Then there would come some matter from
him; I see none now.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Thou bitch-wolf's son, can'st thou not hear?
Feel then.&brquo;
[Striking him.
&blquo;The.
&blquo;The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel
beef-witted lord!&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I
will beat thee into handsomeness.&brquo;
&blquo;The.
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!
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Toad-stool, learn me the proclamation.&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st
me thus?&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;The proclamation.&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch.&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;I would, thou did'st itch from head to foot,
and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee
the loathsom'st scab in Greece.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;I say, the proclamation.&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Thou grumbl'st and rail'st every hour on
Achilles: and thou art as full of envy at his greatness,
as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty; ay, that thou
bark'st at him.&brquo;
-- 183 --
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Mistress Thersites!&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Thou should'st strike him.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Cob-loaf!&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;He would pound thee into shivers with his fist,
as a sailor breaks a bisket.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;You whorson cur!&brquo;
[beating him.
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Do, do.&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;Thou stool for a witch!&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;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 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!&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;You dog!&brquo;
[beating him.
&blquo;The.
&blquo;You scurvy lord!&brquo;
&blquo;Aja.
&blquo;You cur!&brquo;
&blquo;The.
&blquo;Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel;
do, do.&brquo;
&blquo;Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
&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
-- 184 --
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;
[Staying him.
&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;
-- 185 --
&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;
[Exit.
&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.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
