Patroclus.
note
Achil.
Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do ye thus note?
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, so I do note.
Ther.
But yet you look not well upon him; for, whosoever note
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 note have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain more
than he has beat my bones: I will note 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 note you what I say
of him.
Achil.
What?
Ther.
I say, this Ajax—
[Ajax note offers to strike him.
-- 159 --
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 damned cur! I shall—
Achil.
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ther.
No, I warrant you; for a note fool's will shame it.
Patr.
Good words, Thersites note.
Achil.
What's the quarrel?
Ajax.
I bade the vile note owl go learn me the tenour note 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.
E'en note so; note 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 note either of your brains: a' note 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 note grandsires had nails on their toes note, yoke
you like draught-oxen, and make you plough up the wars note.
Achil.
What? what?
Ther.
Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! note to! note
-- 160 --
Ajax.
I shall cut out your tongue.
Ther.
'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much note as thou
afterwards.
Patr.
No more words, Thersites; peace! note
Ther.
I will hold my peace when Achilles' brooch note bids
me, shall I?
Achil.
There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther.
I will see you hanged, like clotpoles note, 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 note 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 note know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell.
Ajax.
Farewell. note Who shall answer him?
Achil.
I know not; 'tis put to lottery; otherwise
He knew his man.
Ajax.
O, meaning you. I will note go learn more of it.
[Exeunt. note
-- 161 --
note
William Aldis Wright [1863–1866], The works of William Shakespeare edited by William George Clark... and John Glover [and William Aldis Wright] (Macmillan and Co., London) [word count] [S10701].
