SCENE I.
The Grecian camp.
Enter Ajax, and Thersites.
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.
[Strikes him.
Ther.
7 noteThe plague of Greece upon thee, thou
mungrel beef-witted lord8 note
!
Ajax.
9 note
Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I
will beat thee into handsomeness.
-- 47 --
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 notein 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,
-- 48 --
as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, 2 note
ay that thou
bark'st at him.
Ajax.
Mistress Thersites!
Ther.
Thou shouldst strike him.
Ajax.
Cobloaf3 note!
Ther.
He would 4 note
pun thee into shivers with his
fist, as a sailor breaks a bisket.
Ajax.
You whoreson cur!
[Beating him.
Ther.
Do, do.
Ajax.
5 noteThou 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
an
assinego may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass!
-- 49 --
thou art here put 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!
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 thus?
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.
-- 50 --
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?
Ther.
I say, this Ajax—
Achil.
Nay, good Ajax.
[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.
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—
Achil.
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ther.
No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Patr.
Good words, Thersites.
Achil.
What's the quarrel?
Ajax.
I bade 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.
Even 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.
Achil.
What, with me too, Thersites?
-- 51 --
Ther.
There's Ulysses and old 1 noteNestor,—whose wit
was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their
toes,—yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough
up the war.
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.
Patr.
No more words, Thersites; peace.
Ther.
I will hold my peace 2 note
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.
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,
-- 52 --
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.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
