The unity and married calm of states Lies mocking our designs: with him, Patroclus, Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day shaked, Which is the ladder of all high designs, The enterprise is sick! How could communities, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides) Breaks scurril jests; And with ridiculous and awkward action (Which, slanderer! he imitation calls) He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And like a strutting player, - whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 'Twixt his stretched footing and the scaffoldage, Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks, 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropped, Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff, The large Achilles, on his pressed bed lolling, Should lose their names, and so should justice too. From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; Then everything includes itself in power, And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, And this neglection of degree it is That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulys ses, What is the remedy? Cries, "Excellent! 't is Agamemnon just. Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, As he, being 'ddressed to some oration." Nes. And in the imitation of these twain (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice) many are infect. Ulys. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns Ajax is grown self-willed; and bears his head The sinew and the forehand of our host, Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent In such a reign, in full as proud a place Bold as an oracle: and sets Thersites Ulys. They tax our policy, and call it cow- Count wisdom as no member of the war; Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. Enter ENEAS. Men. From Troy. Agam. What would you 'fore our tent? Ene. May one, that is a herald and a prince, Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general. Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarmed, As bending angels; that's their fame in peace: But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and Jove's accord, Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas, Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents:- Ene. Fair leave, and large security. How may A prince called Hector (Priam is his father), A stranger to those most imperial looks Agam. How? Who in this dull and long-continued truce Ene. Ay: I ask, that I might waken reve- If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, rence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush, Which is that god in office, guiding men? That holds his honor higher than his ease; He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord If none of them have soul in such a kind, One noble man, that hath one spark of fire of In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all. Nest. Well and how? Ulys. 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: Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Ulys. And wake him to the answer, think you? Nest. Yes, 't is most meet: whom may you else oppose, That can from Hector bring those honors off, For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute Our imputation shall be oddly poised In this wild action: for the success, Ene. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of Although particular, shall give a scantling youth! Ulys. Amen. Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks Agam. Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your To their subséquent volumes, there is seen hand; To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large. It is supposed, [Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR. Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, Ulys. Nestor, Nes. What says Ulysses? Ulys. I have a young conception in my brain, Be you my time to bring it to some shape. Nes. What is 't? Ulys. This 't is : Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride, That hath to this maturity blown up What heart receives from hence a conquering part, Ulys. Give pardon to my speech:Therefore 't is meet, Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares. And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not, The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves, Nes. I see them not with my old eyes: what We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail, Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him: Ajax, employed, plucks down Achilles' plumes. But he already is too insolent; And we were better parch in Afric sun, Nes. Ulysses, And I will give a taste of it forthwith 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'll 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. 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 bark'st at him. Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with [Beating him. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! 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 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! Ther. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness! do, camel! do, do. Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. 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. 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, 't was not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an im Achil. Why, how now, Ajax, wherefore do you press. thus? Ther. Even so? a great deal of your wit too How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man? 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. Ther. You see him there, do you? 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 his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of him. 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. Putr. 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. Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host; That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, for whom he comes to fight; To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, |