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,
Ajux. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pun* thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

Ajar. You whoreson cur! [Beating him.
Ther. Do, do.
Ajax. Thou stool for a witch!

Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thon hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinegot may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass, thou art here put 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

How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?

Ther. You see him there, do you?
Achil. Ay; what's the matter?

# Pound.
+ Ass, a cant term for a foolish fellow.


Ther. Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do; What's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for, whosoever you take bim to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajur. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicuins of wit he ut. ters! 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, l'll tell you what I say of him,

Achil. What?
Ther. I say, this Ajax-

[Ajax offers to strike 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.
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 t.

* The membrane that protects the brain.
+ Voluntarily.

Achil. Your last service was sofferance, '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 draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.

Achil. What, what?
Ther. Yes, good sooth; To, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! to!
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.

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.

[Erit. Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all

our host: That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, That hath a'stomach; and such a one, that dare Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trash : Farewell.

Ajar, Farewell. Who shall answer him?

Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise, He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you :-1'll go learn more of it.

(Exeunt. * Bitch, hound.

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Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Pairs, and Helenus.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage elseAs honour, loss of time, travel, expence, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con

sum'd In hot digestion of this cormorant war, Shall be struck off :-Hector, what say you to't? Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks

than I As far as toucheth my particular, yet, 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: Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is callid The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go: Since the first sword was drawn about this question, Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes*, Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours: If we have lost so many tenths of ours, To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten; What merit's in that reason, which denies The yielding of her up? Tro.

Fye, fye, my brother! Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,

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So great as our dread father, in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite?
And buckle-in a waist most fathomless,
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame!
Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at rea-

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. Here are your

reasons : You know, an enemy intends you harm; You know, a sword employ'd is perilous, And reason flies the object of all harm : Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels; And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason, Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and

bonour Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their

thoughts With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect* Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding

Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ?

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself , As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry, To make the service greater than the god; And the will dotes, that is attributive

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