_Achil_. Why, how now, Aiax! Wherefore do you thus?
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.
_Ther_. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take
him to be, he is Aiax.
_Achil_. I know that, fool.
_Ther_. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
_Aiax_. Therefore I beat thee.
_Ther_. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions
have ears thus long. I have bobb’d 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, Aiax-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 Aiax- [Aiax offers to strike him]
_Achil_. Nay, good Aiax.
_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.
_Aiax_. O thou damned cur! I shall-
_Achil_. Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
_Ther_. No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.
_Patr_. Good words, Thersites.
_Achil_. What’s the quarrel?
_Aiax_. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation,
and he rails upon me.
_Ther_. I serve thee not.
_Aiax_. Well, go to, go to.
_Ther_. I serve here voluntary.
_Achil_. Your last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man
is beaten voluntary. Aiax was here the voluntary, and you as under an
impress.
_Ther_. E’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or
else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch an he knock out
either of your brains: ’a were as good crack a fusty nut with no
kernel.
_Achil_. What, with me too, Thersites?
_Ther_. There’s Vlyſſes and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your
grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught oxen, and make
you plough up the wars.
_Achil_. What, what?
_Ther_. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Aiax, to-
_Aiax_. I shall cut out your tongue.
_Ther_. ’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.
_Patr_. No more words, Thersites; peace!
_Ther_. I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?
_Achil_. There’s for you, Patroclus.
_Ther_. I will see you hang’d 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 proclaim’d through all our host,
That Hector, by the fifth 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 know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.
_Aiax_. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
_Achil_. I know not; ’tis put to lott’ry. Otherwise. He knew his man.
_Aiax_. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.
Exeunt