Ajax.

Thersites,—

Ther.

Agamemnon—how if he had boils? full, all over, generally?

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 there would come some matter from him; I see none now.

Ajax.

Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then.

Ther.

^{7 note}The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord^{8 note}

Ajax.

^{9 note}

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.

Dost 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 loathsomest scab ^{1 note}in Greece. When 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, ^{2 note}

Ajax.

Mistress Thersites!

Ther.

Thou shouldst strike him.

Ajax.

Cobloaf^{3 note}!

Ther.

He would ^{4 note}

Ajax.

You whoreson cur!

Ther.

Do, do.

Ajax.

^{5 note}Thou stool for a witch!

Ther.

Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in my elbows; ^{6 note}

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.

Patr.

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; and such a one, that dare
Maintain—I know not what; 'tis trash: Farewel.

Ajax.
Farewel. 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. SCENE II. TROY. Priam's palace. 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 struck off:—Hector, what say you to't?

Hect.
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 ^{3 note}

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; not 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?

Troi.
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
^{4 note}
The past-proportion of his infinite?
And buckle-in a waist 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?

Troi.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest,
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
^{5 note}
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a star dis-orb'd?—Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
Make livers pale, and lustyhood deject.

Hect.
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding.

Troi.
What is aught, but as 'tis valu'd?

Hect.
But value dwells not in particular will;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself,
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
To make the service greater than the god;
^{6 note}

Troi.
I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment; How may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,

When we have ^{8 note}
soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in ^{9 note}

Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
^{3 note}But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen,
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?

Troi.
'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

Cas. [within]
Cry, Trojans!

Hect.
It is Cassandra. Enter Cassandra, raving.

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

Hect.
Peace, sister, peace.

Cas.
Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders,9Q1016
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours!9Q1017 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.

Hect.
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?

Troi.
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 ^{4 note}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 would 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 merely 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.

Hect.
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^{5 note} 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 ^{6 note}benummed wills, resist the same;
^{7 note}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,
But makes it much more heavy, Hector's opinion
^{8 note}Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless,
My sprightly 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.

Troi.
Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than ^{9 note}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 same, 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.

Hect.
I am yours,
You valiant offspring of great Priamus.—
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowzy spirits:
I was advertis'd, their great general slept,
Whilst ^{1 note}emulation in the army crept;
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Grecian Camp. Achilles' tent.

Enter Thersites.

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.9Q1018 If Troy be not taken 'till these two undermine it, the walls will stand 'till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter 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, ^{2 note}without drawing the massy iron,9Q1019 and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the ^{3 note}bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse dependant on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil envy, say Amen. What, ho! my lord Achilles!

Patr.

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

Ther.

If I could have remember'd a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipp'd 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! 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 shrowded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles?

Patr.

What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?

Ther.

Ay; The heavens hear me!

Achil.

Who's there?

Patr.

Thersites, my lord.

Achil.

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!

Ther.

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

Patr.

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

Ther.

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

Patr.

Thou may'st tell, that know'st.

Achil.

O, tell, tell.

Ther.

I'll ^{4 note}decline the whole question. Agammemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and ^{5 note}Patroclus is a fool.

Patr.

You rascal!

Ther.

Peace, fool; I have not done.

Achil.

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

Ther.

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

Achil.

Derive this; come.

Ther.

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.

Patr.

Why am I a fool?

Ther.

Make that demand ^{6 note}

Achil.

Patroclus, I'll speak with no body:—Come in with me, Thersites.

Ther.

Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery! all the argument is—a cuckold, and a whore; A good quarrel, to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon. ^{7 note}Now the dry serpigo on the subject! and war, and lechery, confound all!

Aga.

Where is Achilles?

Patr.
Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.

Aga.
Let it be known to him, that we are here.
^{8 note}

Our appertainments, visiting of him:
Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place,
Or know not what we are.

Patr.
I shall so say to him. [Exit.

Ulyss.
We saw him at the opening of his tent;
He is not sick.

Ajax.

Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, 'tis pride: But why, why? let him shew us a cause.—A word, my lord.

Nest.

What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

Ulyss.

Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.

Nest.

Who? Thersites?

Ulyss.

He.

Nest.

Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.

Ulyss.

No; you see, he is his argument, that has his argument; Achilles.

Nest.

All the better; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction: But it was a strong ^{9 note}composure, a fool could disunite.

Ulyss.

The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untye. Here comes Patroclus.

Nest.
No Achilles with him.

Ulyss.
The elephant hath joints^{1 note}

Patr.
Achilles bids me say—he is much sorry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatness, and this ^{2 note}

Agam.
Hear you, Patroclus;—
We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot out-fly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hath; and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him: yet all his virtues,—
Not virtuously on his own part beheld,—
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
We come to speak to him: And you shall not sin,
If you do say—we think him over-proud,

And under-honest; in self-assumption greater,
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself,
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on;
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And ^{1 note}under-write in an observing kind
His humourous predominance; yea, watch
^{2 note}

Patr.
I shall; and bring his answer presently. [Exit.

Aga.
In second voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him.—Ulysses, enter you. [Exit Ulysses.

Ajax.
What is he more than another?

Aga.
No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax.
Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks himself
A better man than I?

Aga.
No question.

Ajax.
Will you subscribe his thought, and say—he is?

Aga.
No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant,

As wise, and no less noble, much more gentle,
And altogether more tractable.

Ajax.
Why should a man be proud?
How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is.

Aga.
Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues
The fairer. He that's proud, eats up himself:
Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his
Own chronicle; and whate'er praises itself
But in the deed, devours the deed i'the praise.

Ajax.

I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads^{4 note}.

Nest. [Aside.]

And yet he loves himself; Is it not strange?

Ulyss.
Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

Aga.
What's his excuse?

Ulyss.
He doth rely on none;
But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In will peculiar and in self admission.

Aga.
Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Untent his person, and share the air with us?

Ulyss.
Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
He makes important: Possest he is with greatness;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self breath: imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself: What should I say?

He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it^{5 note}


Cry—No recovery.

Aga.
Let Ajax go to him.—
Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent:
'Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led,
At your request, a little from himself.

Ulyss.
O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord,
That bastes his arrogance ^{6 note}with his own seam;
And never suffers matter of the world
Enter his thoughts,—save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself,—shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he?
No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
As amply titled as Achilles is,
By going to Achilles:
That were to enlard his fat-already pride;
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid;
And say in thunder—Achilles, go to him.

Nest.
O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him. [Aside.

Dio.
And how his silence drinks up this applause! [Aside.

Ajax.
If I go to him, with my armed fist
I'll pash him o'er the face.

Aga.
O, no, you shall not go.

Ajax.
An he be proud with me, I'll ^{7 note}pheeze his pride:—
Let me go to him.

Ulyss.
^{8 note}Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

Ajax.
A paltry insolent fellow,—

Nest.
How he describes himself! [Aside.

Ajax.
Can he not be sociable?

Ulyss.
The raven chides blackness. [Aside.

Ajax.
I'll let his humours blood.

Aga.
He will be the physician, that should be the patient. [Aside.

Ajax.
An all men were o' my mind,—

Ulyss.
Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside.

Ajax.
He should not bear it so,
He should eat swords first: Shall pride carry it?

Nest.
An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside.

Ulyss.
He would have ten shares. [Aside.

^{9 note}
Ajax.
I will knead him, I'll make him supple:—

Nest.
He's not yet thorough warm: ^{1 note}force him with praises: [Aside.
Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

Ulyss.
My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. [To Agamemnon.

Nest.
Our noble general, do not do so.

Dio.
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

Ulyss.
Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
Here is a man—But 'tis before his face;
I will be silent.

Nest.
Wherefore should you so?
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulyss.
Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Ajax.
A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us!
'Would, he were a Trojan!

Nest.
What a vice were it in Ajax now—

Ulyss.
If he were proud?

Dio.
Or covetous of praise?

Ulyss.
Ay, or surly borne?

Dio.
Or strange, or self-affected?

Ulyss.
Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
Fam'd be thy tutor; and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, beyond beyond all erudition:
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and, for thy vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn^{2 note}

Ajax.
Shall I call you father?

^{3 note}

Dio.
Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Ulyss.
There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war;
Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow,
We must with all our main of power stand fast:
And here's a lord,—come knights from east to west,
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga.
Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt.

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