 | Troilus And Cressida, Or, Truth Found too Late |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Troy.Priam, Hector, Troilus, Æneas.
Priam.
After th' expence of so much time and blood,
Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy.
Deliver Hellen, and all other loss
Shall be forgotten Hector, what say you to't?
Hect.
Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I,
Yet there's no Virgin of more tender heart
More ready to cry out, who knows the consequence,
Then Hector is; for modest doubt is mix'd
With manly courage best, let Hellen go.
If we have lost so many lives of ours,
To keep a thing not ours; not worth to us
The vallue of a man, what reason is there
Still to retain the cause of so much ill?
Troil.
Fy, fy, my noble Brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a King,
So great as Asia's Monarch in a scale
Of common ounces thus?
Are fears and reasons fit to be consider'd,
When a Kings fame is question'd?
Hect.
Brother, she's not worth
What her defence has cost us.
Troil.
What's ought but as 'tis vallued?
Hect.
But vallue dwels not in opinion only:
It holds the dignity and estimation,
As well, wherein 'tis precious of it self.
As in the prizer, 'tis Idolatry
To make the Service greater than the God.
Troil.
We turn not back the Silks upon the Merchant
When we have worn 'em: the remaining food
Throw not away because we now are full.
If you confess 'twas wisedome Paris went,
As you must needs; for you all cry'd go, go,
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize
As you must needs, for you all clapt your hands,
And cry'd inestimable: why do you now
So underrate the vallue of your purchase?
For let me tell you 'tis unmanly theft
When we have taken what we fear to keep!
Æne.
There's not the meanest Spirit in our party
When Hellen is defended: none so noble
Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfam'd,
When Hellen is the Subject.
Priam.
So says Paris.
Like one besotted on effeminate joys,
He has the honey still, but these the gall.
Æneas.
He not proposes meerly to himself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it:
But he wou'd have the stain of Hellen's rape
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.
Hect.
Troilus and Æneas you have sayd:
If saying superficiall things be reason.
But if this Hellen be anothers wife,
The Morall laws of Nature and of Nation's
Speak loud she be restor'd: thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more so: Hectors opinion
Is this, is in way of truth: yet ne'retheless
My sprightly Brother I encline to you
In resolution to defend her still:
For 'tis a cause on which our Trojan honour
And common reputation will depend.
Troil.
Why there you touch'd the life of our designe:
Were it not glory that we covet more
Then war and vengeance (beasts and womens pleasure)
I woud not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence: But oh my Brother
She is a subject of renoun and honour,
And I presume brave Hector wou'd not lose
The rich advantage of his future fame
For the wide worlds revenew:—I have business;
But glad I am to leave you thus resolv'd.
When such arms strike, ne're doubt of the success.
Æneas.
May we not guesse?
Troil.
You may, and be deceiv'd.
[Exit Troil.
Hect.
A woman on my life: ev'n so it happens,
Religion, state affairs, whater'es the theme
It ends in women still.
Enter Andromache.
Priam.
See here's your wife
To make that maxim good.
Hect.
Welcome Andromache: your looks are cheerfull;
You bring some pleasing news.
Nothing that's serious.
Your little Son Astyanax has employ'd me
As his Ambassadresse.
Hect.
Upon what errand?
Andro.
No less then that his Grandfather this day
Would make him Knight: he longs to kill a Grecian:
For shou'd he stay to be a man, he thinks
Youll kill 'em all; and leave no work for him.
Priam.
Your own blood, Hector.
Andro.
And therefore he designes to send a challenge
To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles
To prove they do not well to burn our fields;
An keep us coop'd like prisner's in a Town:
To lead this lazy life.
Hect.
What sparks of honour
Fly from this child! the God's speak in him sure:
—It shall be so—I'le do't.
Priam.
What means my Son?
Hect.
To send a challenge to the boldest Greek;
Is not that Country ours? those fruitfull Fields
Wash'd by yon Silver stood, are they not ours?
Those teeming Vines that tempt our longing eyes,
Shall we behold e'm? shall we call e'm ours
And date not make e'm so? by Heavens I'le know
Which of these haughty Grecians, dares to think
He can keep Hector prisner here in Troy.
Priam.
If Hector only were a private Man,
This wou'd be courage, but in him 'tis madness
The general safety on your life depends;
And shou'd you perish in this rash attempt
Troy with a groan, would feel her Soul go out:
And breath her last in you.
Æneas.
The task you undertake is hazardous:
Suppose you win, what wou'd the profit be?
If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath
Your thundring Arm, wou'd all the rest depart?
Wou'd Agamemnon, or his injur'd Brother
Set sayl for this? then it were worth your danger:
But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake
Against whole heaps of theirs.
Priam.
He tells you true.
Æneas.
Suppose one, Ajax, or Achilles lost.
They can repair with more that single loss:
Troy has but one, one Hector.
Hect.
No Æneas?
What will Astyanax be?
Priam.
An Hector one day.
But you must let him live to be a Hector.
And who shall make him such when you are gone?
Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms,
Or give his childhood lessons of the war?
Who shall defend the promise of his youth
And make it bear in Manhood? the young Sappling
Is shrowded long beneath the Mother tree
Before it be transplanted from its Earth,
And trust it self for growth.
Hect.
Alas, my Father!
You have not drawn one reason from yourself,
But publick safety, and my Sons green years:
In this neglecting that main argument
Trust me you chide my filiall piety:
As if I cou'd be won from my resolves
By Troy, or by my Son, or any name
More dear to me than yours.
Priam.
I did not name my self; because I know
When thou art gone, I need no Grecian Sword,
To help me dye, but only Hectors loss.
Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent?
Have you no right in Hector, as a wife?
Andro.
I would be worthy to be Hectors wife:
And had I been a Man, as my Soul's one
I had aspir'd a nobler name, his friend.
How I love Hector, (need I say I love him?)
I am not but in him:
But when I see him arming for his Honour,
His Country and his Gods, that martial fire
That mounts his courage, kindles ev'n to me:
And when the Trojan Matrons wait him out
With pray'rs, and meet with blessings his return;
The pride of Virtue, beats within my breast,
To wipe away the sweat and dust of War:
And dress my Heroe, glorious in his wounds.
Hect.
Come to my Arms, thou manlier Virtue come;
Thou better Name than wife! wou'dst thou not blush
[Embrace.
To hug a coward thus?
Priam.
Yet still I fear!
Andro.
There spoke a woman, pardon Royal Sir;
Has he not met a thousand lifted Swords,
Of thick rank'd Grecians, and shall one affright him?
And yet as safe, as if the broad brim'd Shield
That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death.
Hect.
Thou knowst me well; and thou shalt praise me more,
Gods make me worthy of thee!
Andro.
You shall be
My Knight this day, you shall not wear a cause
So black as Hellens rape upon your breast,
Let Paris fight for Hellen; guilt for guilt,
But when you fight for Honour and for me,
Then let our equal Gods behold an Act,
They may not blush to Crown.
Hect.
Æneas go.
And bear my Challenge to the Grecian Camp,
If there be one amongst the best of Greece,
Who holds his honour higher then his ease,
Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear;
Who loves his Mistress more then in confession:
And dares avow her beauty and her worth,
In other Arms then hers; to him this Challenge.
I have a Lady of more truth and beauty,
Then ever Greek did compass in his arms:
And will to morrow, with the Trumpets call,
Mid-way, between their Tents, and these our Walls,
Maintains what I have said, if any come
My Sword shall honour him, if none shall dare,
Then shall I say at my return to Troy,
The Grecian dames, are Sun-burnt, and not worth
The splinter of a Lance.
Æneas.
It shall be told 'em,
As boldly as you gave it.
Priam.
Heav'n protect thee.
[Exeunt Omnes.
SCENE II.
Pandarus, Cressida.Pand.
Yonder he stands poor wretch! there stands he, with such a
look, and such a face, and such begging eyes; there he stands
poor prisoner.
Cressi.
What a deluge of words do you pour out Uncle, to say just
nothing?
Nothing do you call it, is that nothing, do you call it nothing?
why he looks for all the World, like one of your rascally Malefactors,
just thrown off the Gibbet, with his cap down, his arms ty'd down,
his feet sprunting, his body swinging, nothing do you call it? this is
nothing with a vengeance.
Cressi.
Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a
broken wing?
Pand.
Why go to then, he cannot fly away then, then, that's certain,
that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen him,
when I said to him, take a good heart man, and follow me: and fear
no colours, and speak your mind man: she can never stand you: she
will fall, and 'twere a leaf in Autumn.
Cress.
Did you tell him all this without my consent?
Pand.
Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blab'd, they
leer'd, their very corners blabb'd. But you'll say your tongue sayd nothing.
No I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was better
bred: your tongue kept its own counsell: Nay, I'le say that for you,
your tongue sayd nothing. Well such a shame fac'd couple did I never
see days o' my life: so fraid of one another; such ado to bring you
to the business: well if this job were well over, if ever I lose my pains
again with an awkard couple, let me be painted in the signe-post for
the Labour in vain: fye upon't, fye upon't; there's no conscience in't:
all honest people will cry shame on't.
Cress.
Where is this Monster to be shown? what's to be given for a
sight of him?
Pand
Why ready money, ready money; you carry it about you:
give and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as errant a
maid as you are: I was fain to use violence to him, to pull him hither:
and he pull'd and I pull'd: for you must know he's absolutely the
strongest youth in Troy: to'ther day he took Hellen in one hand, and
Paris in to'ther, and danc'd 'em at one another at arms-end, and 'twere
two Moppets: there was a back, there were bone and Sinnews: there
was a back for you.
Cressi.
For these good procuring Offices you'l be damn'd one day
Uncle.
Pand.
Who I damn'd? faith I doubt I shall: by my troth I think I
shall, nay if a man be damn'd for doing good, as thou saist, it may go
hard with me.
Cressi.
Then I'le not see Prince Troilus, I'le not be accessary to your
damnation.
Pand.
How, not see Prince Troilus? why I have engag'd, I have
promis'd, I have past my word, I care not for damning, let me alone
for damning; I vallue not damning in comparison with my word. If I
am damn'd it shall be a good damning to thee girl, thou shalt be my
thou shalt see Prince Troilus.
Cressi.
The ventures great.
Pand.
No venture in the World, thy Mother ventur'd it for thee,
and thou shalt venture it for my little Cousin that must be.
Cressi.
Weigh but my fears, Prince Troilus is young.—
Pand.
Marry is he, there's no fear in that I hope, the fear were if
he were old and feeble.
Cressi.
And I a woman.
Pand.
No fear yet, thou art a Woman, and he's a Man, put them
two together, put 'em together.
Cressi.
And if I shou'd be frail.—
Pand.
There's all my fear that thou art not frail: thou shou'dst be
frail, all flesh is frail.
Cressi.
Are you my Uncle, and can give this counsel to your own
Brothers daughter.
Pand.
If thou wert my own daughter a thousand times over, I cou'd
do no better for thee, what wou'dst thou have girl, he's a Prince and
a young Prince, and a loving young Prince! an Uncle dost thou call
me, by Cupid I am a father to thee; get thee in, get thee in girl, I
hear him coming. And do you hear Neice! I give you leave,
[Ecit Cressida.
to deny a little 'twill be decent: but take heed of obstinacy, that's a
vice; no obstinacy my dear Niece.
Enter Troylus.
Troil.
Now Pandarus.
Pand.
Now, my sweet Prince! have you seen my Niece? no I know
you have not.
Troylus:
No Pandarus; I stalk about your doors
Like a strange Soul upon the stygian banks
Staying for waftage: O be thou my Charon,
And give me a swift transportanee to Elysium,
And fly with me to Cressida.
Pand.
Walk here a moment more: I'le bring her straight.
Troil.
I fear she will not come: most sure she will not.
Pand.
How not come, and I her Uncle! why I tell you Prince, she
twitters at you. Ah poor sweet Rogue, ah little Rogue, now does she
think, and think, and think again of what must be betwixt you two.
Oh sweet,—oh sweet—O—what not come, and I her Uncle?
Troil.
Still thou flatter'st me; but prithee flatter still; for I wou'd
hope; I wou'd not wake out of my pleasing dream: oh hope how sweet
thou art! but to hope always, and have no effect of what we hope!
Pand.
Oh faint heart, faint heart! well there's much good matter
in these old proverbs! No, she'll not come I warrant her; she has no
come, and come, and come with a swing into your arms, I say no
more, but she has renounc'd all grace, and there's an end.
Troil.
I will believe thee: go then, but be sure:
Pand.
No, you wou'd not have me go; you are indifferent: shall I
go say you: speak the word then:—yet I care not: you may stand in
your own light; and lose a sweet young Ladies heart: well, I shall not
go then!
Troil.
Fly, fly, thou tortur'st me.
Pand.
Do I so, do I so! do I torture you indeed! well I will go.
Troil.
But yet thou dost not go?
Pand.
I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought.
yet you think a man never does enough for you: I have been labouring
in your business like any Moyle. I was with Prince Paris this morning,
to make your excuse at night for not supping at Court: and I
found him, faith how do you think I found him; it does my heart good
to think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for
you.
Troil.
Will you go then, what's this to Cressida?
Pand.
Why you will not hear a Man; what's this to Cressida? why I
found him abed, abed with Hellena by my troth: 'tis a sweet Queen,
a sweet Queen, a very sweet Queen;—but she's nothing to my Cousin
Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsie, a Tawney-moor to my Cousin
Cressida: and she lay with one white arm underneath the whorsons
neck: oh such a white, lilly white, round, plump arm it was—and
you must know it was stript up to th'elbows: and she did so kisse him,
and so huggle him:—as who shou'd say—
Troil.
But still thou stay'st: what's this to Cressida?
Pand.
Why I made your excuse to your Brother Paris; that I think's
to Cressida; but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers, tother
hand was under the bed-cloths, that I saw not, I confess, that hand
I saw not.
Troil.
Again thou tortur'st me.
Pand.
Nay I was tortur'd too; old as I am, I was tortur'd too: but
for all that, I cou'd make a shift, to make him, to make your excuse,
to make your father;—by Jove when I think of that hand, I am so
ravish'd, that I know not what I say: I was tortur'd too.
Well I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct her: not come
quoth a, and I her Uncle!
Exit Pandarus.
Troilus.
Im'e giddy; expectation whirls me round:
The imaginary relish is so sweet,
That it enchants my sence; what will it be
When shall taste that Nectar?
It must be either death, or joy too fine
I fear it much: and I do fear beside,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys:
As does a battle, when they charge on heaps
A flying Enemy.
Re-enter Pandarus.
Pand.
She's making her ready: she'll come straight, you must be
witty now; she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if
she were frighted with a spright: 'tis the prettiest villain, she fetches
her breath so short, as 'twere a new ta'ne Sparrow.
Troil.
Just such a passion, does heave up my breast!
My heart beats thicker than a feavourish pulse:
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
Just like a slave, at unawares encountring
The eye of Majesty:—Leade on, I'le follow.
Exeunt together.
SCENE III.
The Camp.Nestor, Ulysses.
Ulyss.
I have conceiv'd an embryo in my brain:
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nest.
What is't, Ulysses?
Ulyss.
The feeded pride,
That has to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropt,
Or shedding, breed a nursery of like ill,
To overtop us all.
Nest.
That's my opinion.
Uliss.
This challenge which Æneas brings from Hector,
However it be spred in general terms,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
And will it wake him to the answer think you?
Nest.
It ought to do: whom can we else oppose
Who cou'd from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? the Successe of this
Although particular, will give an Omen
Of good or bad, ev'n to the general cause.
Ulyss.
Pardon me Nestor, if I contradict you.
Therefore 'tis fit Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us like Merchants show our coursest wares,
And think perchance they'll sell: but if they do not,
The lustre of our better yet unshown
Will show the better; let us not consent
For both our honour and our shame in this,
Shall be attended with strange followers.
Nest.
I see e'm not with my old eyes; what are they?
Ulyss.
What glory our Achilles gains from Hector.
Were he not proud we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent:
And we had better parch in Affrick Sun
Than in his pride, shou'd he scape Hector fair.
But grant he shou'd be foyl'd
Why then our common reputation suffers,
In that of our best Man: No, make a Lottery;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw
The chance to fight with Hector: among our selves
Give him allowance as the braver Man;
For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall
His Crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off.
If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion,
That we have better men.
Nest.
Now I begin to relish thy advice:
Come let us go to Agamemnon straight,
T'inform him of our project.
Ulyss.
'Tis not ripe.
The skilfull Surgeon will not lanch a sore
Till Nature has digested and prepar'd
The growing humours to his healing purpose.
Else must he often grieve the patients sence,
When one incision once well-time'd wou'd serve:
Are not Achilles, and dull Ajax friends?
Nest.
As much as fools can be.
Ulyss.
That knot of friendship first must be unty'd
Ere we can reach our ends; for while they love each other
Both hating us, will draw too strong a byasse,
And all the Camp will lean that way they draw:
For brutall courage is the Soldiers Idoll:
So, if one prove contemptuous, back'd by to ther,
'Twill give the law to cool and sober sence,
And place the power of war in Mad-mens hands.
Nest.
Now I conceive you; were they once divided,
And one of them made ours, that one would check
The others towring growth: and keep both low,
As Instruments, and not as Lords of war.
And this must be by secret coals of envy,
Blown in their brest: comparisons of worth;
As we shall give him voice.
Ulyss.
Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
Who feeds on Ajax: yet loves him not, because he cannot love.
But as a Species, differing from mankinde,
Hatss all he sees; and rails at all he knows;
But hates them most, from whom he most receives.
Disdaining that his lot shou'd be so low.
That he shou'd want the kindeness which he takes.
Nest.
There's none so fit an Engine: Save ye Thersites.
Ulyss.
Hayl noble Grecian, Thou relief of toyls,
Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war.
In whose converse our winter-nights are short,
And Summer-days not tedious.
Thers.
Hang you both.
Nest.
How hang us both!
Thers.
But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool!
Thou sapless Oke, that liv'st by wanting thought.
And now in thy three hundreth year repin'st
Thou should'st be fell'd: hanging's a civil death,
The death of men: thou canst not hang: thy trunk
Is only fit for gallows to hang others.
Nest.
A fine greeting.
Thers.
A fine old Dotard, to repine at hanging
At such an Age! what saw the Gods in thee
That a Cock-Sparrow shou'd but live three years,
And thou shoud'st last three Ages! he's thy better;
He uses life: he treads himself to death.
Thou hast forgot thy use some hdndred years:
Thou stump of Man, thou worn-out broom: thou lumber.
Nest.
I'le hear no more of him, his poyson works;
What curse me for my age!
Ulyss.
Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custome:
What malice is there in a mirthfull scene!
'Tis but a keen-edg'd Sword, spread o're with balme
To heal the wound it makes:
Thers.
Thou beg'st a curse!
May'st thou quit scores then, and be hang'd on Nestor,
Who hangs on thee: thou lead'st him by the nose:
Thou play'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him,
And when thou hast contriv'd some dark design
To loose a thousand Greeks; make dogs meat of us,
Thou layst thy Cuckows egg within his nest,
To lye; and say, the like of it was practis'd
Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain
And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots;
Nest.
I'me no mans fool.
Thers.
Then be thy own, that's worse.
Nest.
He'll rail all day.
Ulyss.
Then we shall learn all day.
Who forms the body to a gracefull carriage
Must imitate our awkard motions first;
The same prescription does the wise Thersites
Apply to mend our minds. The same he uses
To Ajax, to Achilles; to the rest;
His Satyrs are the physick of the Camp.
Thers.
Wou'd they were poyson to't, Rats-bane and Hemlock:
Nothing else can mend you; and those two brawny fools.
Ulyss.
He hits e'm right:
Are they not such my Nestor?
Thers.
Dolt-heads, Asses.
And beasts of burthen; Ajax and Achilles!
The pillars, no, the porters of the war.
Hard-headed Rogues! Engines, meer wooden Engines,
Push'd on to do your work.
Nest.
They are indeed.
Thers.
But what a Rogue art thou
To say they are indeed: Heaven made e'm horses
And thou put'st on their harnesse: rid'st and spur'st e'm:
Usurp'st upon heav'ns fools, and mak'st e'm thine.
Nest.
No: they are headstrong fools to be corrected
By none but by Thersites: thou alone
Canst tame, and train e'm to their proper use;
And doing this mayst claim a just reward
From Greece, and Royall Agamemnons hands.
Thers.
Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving;
For wit's a dear commodity among you:
But when you do not want him, then stale porridge,
A starv'd dog wou'd not lap; and furrow water
Is all the wine we taste, give drabs and pimps:
He have no gifts with hooks at end of e'm.
Ulyss.
Is this a Man, O Nestor to be bought!
Asia's not price enough! bid the world for him.
And shall this man, this Hermes this Apollo,
Sit lagg of Ajax table? almost minstrell,
And with his presence grace a brainless feast?
Why they consence from him grow wits by rote,
Making his wit their nonsence: nay they scorn him;
Call him bought rayler, mercenary tongue!
Play him for sport at meals, and kick him off.
Thers.
Yes they can kick, my buttocks feel they can:
They have their Asses tricks: but I'le eat pebbles,
Ile starve; 'tis brave to starve, 'tis like a Soldier;
Before I'le feed those wit-starv'd rogues with sence.
They shall eat dry, and choke for want of wit,
Ere they be moisten'd with one drop of mine.
Ajax, and Achilles, two mudd-walls of fool,
That only differ in degrees of thicknesse.
Ulyss.
I'de be reveng'd of both, when wine fumes high,
Set e'm to prate, to boast their brutall strength,
To vye their stupid courage, till they quarrell
And play at hard-head with their empty Skulls.
Thers.
Yes; they shall but and kick; and all the while
Ile think they kick for me: they shall fell timber
On both sides; and then log-wood will be cheap.
Nest.
And Agamemnon—
Thers.
Pox of Agamemnon;
Cannot I do a mischief for my self
But he must thank me for't!
Ulyss. to Nestor.
Away; our work is done.
Exeunt Ulysses, Nestor.
Thers.
This Agamemnon is a King of clouts:
A chip in porredge.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax.
Thersites!
Thers.
Set up to frighten Daws from Cherry trees.
Ajax.
Dogg!
Thers.
A standard to march under!
Ajax.
Thou bitch-woolf! canst thou not hear! feel then.
Strikes him.
Thers.
The plague of Greece, and Hellens Pox light on thee,
Thou mungrill mastiffe; thou beef-witted Lord.
Ajax.
Speak then, thou mouldy leaven of the Camp.
Speak or Ile beat thee into handsomeness.
Thirs.
I shall sooner rayle thee into wit: thou canst kick, canst thou?
A red murrayn on thy Jades tricks!
Ajax.
Tell me the Proclamation:
Thers.
Thou art proclaim'd a fool I think.
Ajax.
You whorson Cur take that.
[Strikes him.
Thers.
Thou Scurvy valiant Asse.
Ajax.
Thou slave.
Thou Lord!—I, do, do,—wou'd my buttocks were Iron
for thy sake.
Enter Achilles. Patroclus.
Achill.
Why how now Ajax! wherefore do you this?
How now Thersites, what's the matter man!
Thers.
I say this Ajax wears his wit in's belly, and his guts in brains.
Achill.
Peace fool.
Thers.
I wou'd have peace; but the fool will not.
Prtrocl.
But what's the quarrell!
Ajax.
I bad him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Thers.
I serve thee not:
Ajax.
I shall cut out your tongue!
Thers.
'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much sence as thou afterwards:
Ile see you hang'd ere I come any more to your Tent: Ile keep where
theres wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.—
[going.
Achill.
Nay, thou shalt not go Thersites, till we have squees'd the
venome out of thee: prithee inform us of this Proclamation.
Thers.
Why you empty fuz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else
but Proclamations.
Ajax.
Tell us the news I say.
Thirs.
You say! why you never said any thing in all your life!
But since you will know, 'tis proclaim'd through the Army, that Hector
is to cudgell you to morrow.
Achilles.
How cudgell him, Thersites!
Thers.
Nay, you may take a childs part ont if you have so much courage,
for Hector has challeng'd the toughest of the Greeks: and 'tis in
dispute which of your two heads is the sonndest timber.
Achill.
If Hector be to fight with any Greeke,
He knows his Man.
Ajax.
Yes; he may know his man, without Art Magick.
Thers.
So he had need: for to my certain knowledge neither of you
two are conjurers to inform him.
Achill.
to Ajax.
You do not mean your self, sure.
Ajax.
I mean nothing.
Thers.
Thou mean'st so always.
Achill.
Umh! mean nothing!
Thers.
aside.
Jove if it be thy will, let these two fools quarrell about
nothing: 'tis a cause that's worthy of 'em.
Ajax.
You sayd he knew his Man: is there but one?
One Man amongst the Greeks!
Achill.
Since you will have it,
but one to fight with Hector.
Ajax.
Then I am he;
Weak Ajax.
Ajax.
Weak Achilles.
Thers.
Weak indeed: God help you both!
Patroc.
Come, this must be no quarrell.
Thers,
There's no cause for't.
Patroc.
He tells you true; you are both equall
Thers.
Fools.
Achill.
I can brook no comparisons.
Ajax.
Nor I.
Achill.
Well Ajax.
Ajax.
Well Achilles.
Thers.
So now they quarrell in Monosyllables: A word and a blow,
and't be thy will.
Achill.
You may hear more.
Ajax.
I wou'd.
Achill.
Expect,
Ajax.
Farewell.
Exeunt severally.
Thers.
Curse on them, they want wine; your true fool will never fight
without it. Or a drab a drab: Oh for a commodious Drabb betwixt
'em! wou'd Hellen had been here! then it had come to something.
And the Beast Man, is valiant for his whore.
Exit Thersites.
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