Thersites.
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
Agamemnon—how if he had boiles—
full, all over, generally.
[Talking to himself.
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
And those boiles did run—say so—
did not the General run? were not that a botchy core?
Ajax.
Dog!—
Ther.
Then there 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 thee, thou mungrel
beef-witted lord!
Ajax.
Speak then, you unwinnow'd'st(16) note
leaven,
speak; I will beat thee into handsomness.
-- 34 --
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 tricks!
Ajax.
Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.
Ther.
Doest thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st
me thus?
Ajax.
The proclamation—
Ther.
Thou art proclaim'd 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
loathsom'st scab in Greece.
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: I, that thou bark'st
at him.
Ajax.
Mistress Thersites!—
Ther.
Thou shouldst strike him.
Ajax.
Cobloaf!
Ther.
He would pound thee into shivers with his fist,
as a sailor breaks a bisket.
Ajax.
You whorson cur!—
[Beating him.
Ther.
Do, do.
Ajax.
Thou stool for a witch!—
Ther.
Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord; thou hast
no more brain than I have in my 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
-- 35 --
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 ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Achil.
Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this?
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 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'll tell you what I say of him.
Achil.
What?
[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.
Ther.
I say, this Ajax—
Achil.
Nay, good Ajax.
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 damn'd cur, I shall—
-- 36 --
Achil.
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ther.
No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Pat.
Good words, Thersites.
Achil.
What's the quarrel?
Ajax.
I bad 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 voluntary; Ajax was here
the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
Ther.
Ev'n 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; he
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,)(17) note
yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the
wair.
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.
Pat.
No more words, Thersites.
Ther.
I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids
me, shall I?
Achil.
There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther.
I will see you hang'd 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.
-- 37 --
Pat.
A good riddance.
Achil.
Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Host,
That Hector, by the fifth 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, such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'tis trash, farewel.
Ajax.
Farewel! who shall answer him?
Achil.
I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise
He knew his man.
Ajax.
O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
