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Troilus and Cressida (Modern)
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858.1[2.1]
859Enter Ajax and Thersites.
Thersites?
Agamemnon, how if he had boils, full, all over, generally?862
Thersites?
And those boils did run (say so), did not the 865general run? Were not that a botchy core?
Dog.
Then there would come some matter from him; 868I see none now.
Thou bitch wolf's son, canst thou not hear? 870Feel then.
2.1.7.1Strikes him.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel 872beef-witted lord.
Speak then, you whinid'st leaven, speak. I will 874beat thee into handsomeness.
I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness, 876but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou 877learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst 878thou? A red murrain o'thy jade's tricks.
Toad's stool, learn me the proclamation.
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strik'st me thus?
The proclamation.
Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
Do not, porcupine; do not; my fingers itch.
I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and 885I had the scratching of thee. I would make thee the 886loathsomest scab in Greece.
I say, the proclamation.
Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 889Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as 890Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou bark'st at him.
Mistress Thersites.
Thou shouldst strike him.
Cobloaf.
He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as 895a sailor breaks a biscuit.
You whoreson cur.
2.1.24Thersites
Do, do.
Thou stool for a witch.
Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord; thou hast 899no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an asinico 900may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass, thou art here 901but to thresh Trojans, and thou art bought and sold, 902among those of any wit, like a barbarian slave. If thou use 903to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell what thou art 904by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou.
You dog.
You scurvy lord.
You cur.
Mars his idiot, do; rudeness, do; camel, do, do.
Why, how now, Ajax? Wherefore do you this?
You see him there, do you?
Ay, what's the matter?
Nay, look upon him.
So I do. What's the matter?
Nay, but regard him well.
"Well?" Why, I do so.
But yet you look not well upon him, for 919whosomever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
I know that, fool.
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Therefore, I beat thee.
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters; his 924evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain 925more than he has beat my bones. I will buy nine 926sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth 927part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles -- Ajax, who wears 928his wit in his belly and his guts in his head -- I'll tell you 929what I say of him.
What?
I say this Ajax --
Nay, good Ajax.
-- has not so much wit --
Nay, I must hold you.
-- as will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom 936he comes to fight.
Peace, fool.
I would have peace and quietness, but the fool 939will not -- he there, that he, look you there.
O thou damned cur, I shall --
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
No, I warrant you, for a fool's will shame it.
Good words, Thersites.
What's the quarrel?
I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor 946of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
I serve thee not.
Well, go to, go to.
I serve here voluntary.
Your last service was sufferance; 'twas not 951voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the 952voluntary, and you as under an impress.
E'en so, a great deal of your wit, too, lies in your 954sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great 955catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as 956good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
What, with me too, Thersites?
There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose wit was 959moldy ere their grandsires had nails on their toes, yoke 960you like draft-oxen, and make you plough up the war.
What? What?
Yes, good sooth. To, Achilles, to, Ajax, to --
I shall cut out your tongue.
'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou 965afterwards.
No more words, Thersites. Peace.
I will hold my peace when Achilles' brooch bids 968me, shall I?
There's for you, Patroclus.
I will see you hanged like clotpolls ere I come 971any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit 972stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
2.1.72.1Exit.
A good riddance.
[To Ajax] Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host:
Farewell? Who shall answer him?
I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise 982he knew his man.
Oh, meaning you. I will go learn more of it.
2.1.82.1Exit.