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?
-- 41 --
Ajax.
Dog,—
Ther.
Then 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.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
beef-witted lord!
Ajax.
Speak then, thou vinewd'st leaven9 note 11Q0831, speak: I
will beat thee into handsomeness.
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 proclaimed 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 in Greece. When thou art forth
in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another1 note.
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, ay, that thou
barkest at him.
Ajax.
Mistress Thersites!
Ther.
Thou shouldest strike him.
Ajax.
Cobloaf2 note!
-- 42 --
Ther.
He would pun thee into shivers3 note with his fist,
as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
Ajax.
You whoreson cur!
[Beating him.
Ther.
Do, do4 note.
Ajax.
Thou stool for a witch!
Ther.
Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou
hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an
assinego may tutor thee5 note: thou scurvy valiant ass!
thou art here but 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 idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do,
do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus6 note.
Achil.
Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this?
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.
-- 43 --
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.
Ther.
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters!
his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 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.
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 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.
-- 44 --
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: he 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 grandsires had nails on their toes7 note,
—yoke you like draught 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; peace8 note!
Ther.
I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach9 note
bids me, shall I?
Achil.
There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther.
I will see you hanged, 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 proclaimed through all our host:—
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun1 note,
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
-- 45 --
Maintain—I know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell.
Ajax.
Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Achil.
I know not: it is put to lottery; otherwise,
He knew his man.
Ajax.
O! meaning you.—I will go learn more of it.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
