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 How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man? 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. 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. 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, 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, Shall be struck off:-Hector, what say you to't? 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? Tro. tenth. Fye, fye, my brother! many thousand dismes,] Disme, Fr. is the tithe, the Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, 5 Of common ounces? will you with counters sum With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame! 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; Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason, With this cramm'd reason; reason and respect" 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. |