Ther.

Now they are clapper-clawing one another, I'll go look on: that dissembling abominable varlet, Diomede, has got that same scurvy, doating, 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-master villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless Errant. O'th' other side, the policy of those crafty (a) ^note sneering 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 to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.

Enter Diomede and Troilus.

Soft—here comes sleeve, and t'other.

Troi.
Fly not; for should'st thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.

Dio.
Thou dost miscall 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, now the sleeve!