But that Achilles, were his brain as barren Pointing on him. Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you 1? Nest. It is most meet; Whom may you else oppose, That can from Hector bring those honours off, For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute Yes, With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd In this wild action: for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling3 And in such indexes, although small pricks 4 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd, As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd What heart receives from hence a conquering part, Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, 3 Size, measure. 4 Small points compared with the volumes. VOL. VII. X. In no less working, than are swords and bows Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector. By showing the worse first. Do not consent, For both our honour and our shame, in this, Are dogg'd with two strange followers. Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what are they? Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him : But he already is too insolent; And we were better parch in Africk sun, Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw The sort to fight with Hector: Among ourselves, Yet go we under our opinion s Estimation or character. still But, hit or miss, Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,- Now I begin to relish thy advice; And I will give a taste of it forthwith To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Another part of the Grecian Camp. Enter AJAX and THERSITES. Ajax. Thersites, Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils? full, allover, generally? Ajax. Thersites, Ther. And those boils did run ?-Say so,-did not the general run then? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog, Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I see none now. Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness. • Provoke. Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks! Ajar. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think,' I have no sense, thou strikest me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation,→→→ Ther, Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. Ajax. I say, the proclamation, Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him. Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun9 thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You whoreson cur! Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! [Beating him. Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass? thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art • Pound. I Ass, a cant term for a foolish fellow. bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! Ajar. 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. Nay, look upon him. Achil. So I do; What's the matter? 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 2 Continue. 3 The membrane that protects the brain. |