Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man One noble man that hath one spark of fire Agam. Fair Lord Æneas, let me touch your hand; Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: Yourself shall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe. Ulyss. Nestor,— [Exeunt all but ULYSS. and NEST. Nest. What says Ulysses? Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain; Be you my time to bring it to some shape. Nest. What is't? Ulyss. This 'tis : Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all. Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance, Whose grossness little characters sum up: And, in the publication, make no strain But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya,-though, Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enough,-will, with great speed of judgment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him. Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you? Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you else oppose That can from Hector bring his honour off, If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat, For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute In this wild action; for the success, And in such indexes, although small pricks Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd What heart receives from hence the conquering part, 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 worst 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 Afric sun Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall VOL. IV. 2 E If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, That we have better men. But, hit or miss, To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. [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, all over, 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. [Beating him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beefwitted lord! Ajax. Speak, then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness. 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! Ajax. Toadstool, 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 loath somest 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 shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun 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 but to thrash Trojans; and thou art 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! 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. 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. Achil. What? Ther. I say, this Ajax, [AJAX offers to beat him, ACHILLES interposes. Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 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. Achil. What's the quarrel? Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor 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: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. Ther. E'en 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? Ther. Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! 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. 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. |