_Patr_. Who’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.
_Ther_. If I could ’a rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not
have slipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon
thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in
great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not
near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she
that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn
upon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?
_Patr_. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?
_Ther_. Ay, the heavens hear me!
_Patr_. Amen.