SCENE IX.
Enter Thersites.
Ther.
A wonder!
Achil.
What?
Ther.
Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for
himself.
Achil.
How so?
Ther.
He must fight singly to morrow with Hector,
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling,
that he raves in saying nothing.
Achil.
How can that be?
Ther.
Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,
a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess, that
hath no arithmetick but her brain, to set down her
reckoning; bites his lip with a politick regard, as
who should say, there were wit in his head, if 'twou'd
out; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as
-- 438 --
fire in a flint, which will not shew without knocking.
The man's undone for ever: for if Hector break not
his neck i'th' combat, he'll break't himself in vain-glory.
He knows not me: I said, good morrow,
Ajax: And he replies, thanks, Agamemnon. What
think you of this man, that takes me for the General?
he's grown a very land-fish, language-less, a monster.
&wlquo;4 noteA plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both
sides, like a leather Jerkin.&wrquo;
Achil.
Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
Ther.
Who, I?—why, he'll answer no body;
he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars;
he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence;
let Patroclus make his demands to me, you
shall see the Pageant of Ajax.
Achil.
To him, Patroclus—tell him, I humbly desire
the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous
Hector to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure
safe Conduct for his Person of the magnanimous and
most illustrious, six or seven times honour'd, captain
general, of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do
this.
Patr.
Jove bless great Ajax!
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
I come from the worthy Achilles.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
Who most humbly desires you to invite
Hector to his Tent.
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
And to procure safe Conduct from Agamemnon.
Ther.
Agamemnon!—
-- 439 --
Patr.
Ay, my lord.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
What say you to't?
Ther.
God be wi'you, with all my heart.
Patr.
Your answer, Sir.
Ther.
If to morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock
it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay
for me ere he has me.
Patr.
Your answer. Sir.
Ther.
Fare ye well with all my heart.
Achil.
Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
Ther.
No, but he's out o'tune thus; what musick
will be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his
brains, I know not. But, I am sure, none; unless the
fidler Apollo get his sinews to make Catlings on.
Achil.
Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.
Ther.
Let me carry another to his horse; for that's
the more capable creature.
Achil.
My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd,
And I my self see not the bottom of it.
[Exit.
Ther.
'Would the fountain of your mind were clear
again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be
a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.
[Exe.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].