Ther.

Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy, there, in his helm: I

would fain see them meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand. ^{4 note}O' the other side, The policy of those crafty swearing rascals,—that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses,—is not prov'd worth a black-berry:—They set me up, in policy, that mungril cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin ^{5 note}to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.

Troi.

Fly not; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.

Dio.
Thou dost mis-call retire:
I do not fly; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude:
Have at thee! [They go off fighting.

Ther.

Hold thy whore, Grecian!—now for thy whore, Trojan!—now the sleeve, now the sleeve!

Hect.
What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match?

^{6 note}
Art thou of blood, and honour?

Ther.

No, no:—I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.

Hect.

I do believe thee;—live.

Ther.

God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think, they have swallow'd one another: I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them.