[Act 2, Scene 1]
Enter Aiax, and
Thersites.
Aia.
Thersites?
Ther.
Agamemnon, how if he had Biles (ful) all ouer
[840]
generally.
Aia.
Thersites?
Ther.
And those Byles did runne, say so; did not the
General run, were
not that a botchy core?
Aia.
Dogge.
Ther.
[845]
Then there would come some matter from him:
I see none now.
Aia.
Thou Bitch‑Wolfes‑Sonne, canst
yͧ
thou
not heare?
Feele then.
strikes him.
Ther.
The plague of Greece vpon thee thou Mungrel
[850]
beefe‑witted
Lord.
Aia.
Speake then you whinid'st leauen speake, I will
beate thee into
handsomnesse.
Ther.
I shal sooner rayle thee into wit and holinesse:
but I thinke
thy Horse wil sooner con an Oration, then
yͧ
thou
[855]
learn a prayer without booke: Thou canst strike, canst
thou? A red Murren o'th thy Iades trickes.
Aia.
Toads stoole, learne me the Proclamation.
Ther.
Doest thou thinke I haue no sence thou strik'st
(me thus?
Aia.
[860]
The Proclamation.
Ther.
Thou art proclaim'd a foole, I thinke.
Aia.
Do not Porpentine, 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 loth
[865]
som'st
scab in Greece.
Aia.
I say the Proclamation.
Ther.
Thou grumblest & railest euery houre on
A
chilles
and thou art as ful of enuy at his
greatnes, as
Cer
berus
is at
Proserpina's beauty. I, that thou barkst at
him.
Aia.
[870]
Mistresse
Thersites.
Ther.
Thou should'st strike him
Aia.
Coblofe.
Ther.
He would pun thee into shiuers with his fist, as
A Sailor
breakes a bisket.
Aia.
[875]
You horson Curre.
Ther.
Do, do.
Aia.
Thou stoole for a Witch.
Ther.
I, do, do, thou sodden‑witted Lord: thou hast
no more
braine then I haue in mine elbows: An Asinico
[880]
may tutor thee.
Thou scuruy valiant Asse, thou art heere
but to thresh Troyans,
and thou art bought and solde a
mong those of any wit,
like a Barbarian slaue. If thou vfe
to beat me, I wil begin at
thy heele and tel what thou art
by inches thou thing of no
bowels thou.
Aia.
[885]
You dogge.
Ther.
You scuruy Lord.
Aia.
You Curre.
Ther.
Mars his Ideot: do rudenes, do Camell, do,
do.
Enter Achilles and
Patroclus.
Achil.
Why how now
Aiax? wherefore do you this?
[890]
How now
Thersites? what's the matter man?
Ther.
You see him there, do you?
Achil.
I, what's the matter.
Ther.
Nay looke vpon him.
Achil.
So I do: what's the matter?
Ther.
[895]
Nay but regard him well.
Achil.
Well, why I do so.
Ther.
But yet you looke not well vpon him: for who
some euer you take
him to be, he is
Aiax.
Achil.
I know that foole.
Ther.
[900]
I, but that foole knowes not himselfe.
Aiax.
Therefore I beate thee.
Ther.
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what
modicumes of wit he
vtters: his
euasions haue eares thus long. I haue bobb'd his
Braine
more then he has beate my bones: I will buy nine
Spar
[905]
rowes for a peny, and his
Piamater is not worth the ninth
part of a Sparrow.
This Lord (
Achilles)
Aiax who wears
his wit in his belly, and his guttes
in his head, Ile tell you
what I say of him.
Achil.
What?
Ther.
[910]
I say this
Ajax⸺
Achil.
Nay good
Aiax.
Ther.
Has not so much wit.
Achil.
Nay, 1 must hold you.
Ther.
As will stop the eye of
Helens Needle, for
whom
he comes to fight.
Achil.
[915]
Peace foole.
Ther.
I would haue peace and quietnes, but the foole
will not: he
there, that he, looke you there.
Aiax.
O thou damn'd Curre, I shall⸺
Achil.
Will you set your wit to a Fooles.
Ther.
[920]
No I warrant you, for a fooles will shame it.
Pat.
Good words
Thersites.
Achil.
What's the quarrell?
Aiax.
I bad thee vile Owle, goe learne me the tenure
Of the
Proclamation, and he sayles vpon me.
Ther.
[925]
I serue thee not.
Aiax.
Well, go too, go too.
Ther.
I serue heere voluntary.
Achil.
Your last seruice was sufferance, 'twas not vo
luntary,
no man is beaten voluntary:
Aiax was heere
the
[930]
voluntary, and you as vnder an Impresse.
Ther.
E'neso, a great deale of your wit too lies in your
sinnewes, or
else there be Liars,
Hector shall haue a
great
catch, if he knocke out either of your braines, he were
as
good cracke a fustie nut with no kernell.
Achil.
[935]
What with me to
Thersites?
Ther.
There's
Vlysses, and old
Nestor, whose Wit was
mouldy ere their Grandsires had
nails on their toes, yoke
you like draft
Oxen, and
make you plough vp the warre.
Achil.
[940]
What? what?
Ther.
Yes good sooth, to
Achilles, to
Aiax, to⸺
Aiax.
I shall cut out your tongue.
Ther.
'Tis no matter, I shall speake as much as thou
afterwards.
Pat.
No more words
Thersites.
Ther.
[945]
I will hold my peace when
Achilles Brooch bids
me, shall I?
Achil.
There's for you
Patroclus.
Ther.
I wil see you hang'd like Clotpoles ere I come
any more to your
Tents; I will keepe where there is wit
[950]
stirring, and leaue the
faction of fooles.
Exit.
Pat.
A good riddance.
Achil.
Marry this Sir is proclaim'd through al our host,
That
Hector by the fift houre of the
Sunne,
Will with a Trumpet,'twixt our Tents and Troy
[955]
To morrow morning call some Knight to Armes,
That hath a stomacke, and such a one that dare
Maintaine I know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell.
Aiax.
Farewell? who shall answer him?
Achil.
I know not,'tis put to Lottry: otherwise
[960]
He knew his man.
Aiax.
O meaning you, I wil go learne more of it.
Exit.
