gin 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 PATROCLUS.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? 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 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.

1

Achil. What?

Ther. I say, this Ajax

his pia mater, &c.] The pia mater is a membrane that protects the substance of the brain.

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

[AJAX offers to strike him, ACHILles interposes.

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;2 Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

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; 'a 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 toes,-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.

Achil. What, what?

is beaten voluntary:] i. e. voluntarily. Shakspeare often uses adjectives adverbially.

to!

Ther. Yes, good sooth; To, Achilles! to, Ajax!

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards.

Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace.

The. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 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 first 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.
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'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt.

3 — when Achilles' brach bids me,] The commentators are not agreed on the meaning of this word, some referring it to a species of dog, and some to an ornament called a broche, or broach.

SCENE II.

Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace.

Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage else

As honour, loss of time, travel, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war,-

Shall be struck off:-Hector, what say you to't?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as toucheth my particular, yet,

Dread Priam,

There is no lady of more softer bowels,

More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,

More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows?
Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,"
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:
If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro.

tenth.

Fye, fye, my brother!

many thousand dismes,] Disme, Fr. is the tithe, the

Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father, in a scale

5

Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite? >
And buckle-in a waist most fathomless,

With spans and inches so diminutive

As fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame!
Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at

reasons,

You are so empty of them.

Should not our father

Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother

priest,

You fur your gloves with reason.

reasons:

Here are your

You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their
thoughts

With this cramm'd reason; reason and respect"
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding.

Tro.

What is aught, but as 'tis valued?

5 The past-proportion of his infinite?] i. e. that greatness to which no measure bears any proportion.

6

reason and respect

Makes livers pale, &c.] Respect is caution, a regard to conse

quences.