Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary: 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 draft oxen, and make you plough the war. up Achil. What, what? 110 Ther. Yes, good sooth; To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to f 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. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I ? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. 120 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. Patr. A good riddance. [Exit. Achil. Marry this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host: That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, |