SCENE IX.
Enter Thersites.
Ev'n to my full of view.—A labour sav'd!
Ther.
A wonder!
Achil.
What?
Ther.
Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for
himself.
Achil.
How so?
Ther.
He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector,
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling,
that he raves in saying nothing.
Achil.
How can that be?
Ther.
Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,
a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess, that
hath no arithmetick but her brain, to set down her
reckoning; bites his lip 1 notewith a politick regard, as
who should say, there were wit in this head, if 'twou'd
out; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire
in a flint, which will not shew without knocking.
The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not
his neck i'th' combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory.
He knows not me. I said, Good-morrow,
Ajax; and he replies, Thanks, Agamemnon. What
think you of this man, that takes me for the General?
He's grown a very land-fish, language-less, a monster.
A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both
sides, like a leather Jerkin.
Achil.
Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
Ther.
Who, I?—why, he'll answer no body; he
-- 489 --
professes not answering; speaking is for beggars. He
wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence;
let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the
Pageant of Ajax.
Achil.
To him, Patroclus. Tell him, I humbly
desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous
Hector to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure
safe Conduct for his Person of the magnanimous and
most illustrious, six or seven times honour'd, captain-general,
of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do
this.
Patr.
Jove bless great Ajax!
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
I come from the worthy Achilles.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector
to his Tent.
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.
Ther.
Agamemnon!—
Patr.
Ay, my Lord.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
What say you to't?
Ther.
God be wi'you, with all my heart.
Patr.
Your answer, Sir.
Ther.
If to morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock
it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay
for me ere he has me.
Patr.
Your answer, Sir.
Ther.
Fare ye well, with all my heart.
Achil.
Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
Ther.
No, but he's out o'tune thus. What musick
will be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his
brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless
the fidler Apollo get his sinews to make Catlings on.
Achil.
Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.
-- 490 --
Ther.
Let me carry another to his horse; for that's
the more capable creature.
Achil.
My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd,
And I myself see not the bottom of it.
[Exit.
Ther.
'Would the fountain of your mind were clear
again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be
a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].