TROILUS & CRESSIDA. William Shakespeare

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ACT II.

       Table of Contents

      SCENE 1. The Grecian camp

       [Enter Ajax and THERSITES.]

       AJAX.

       Thersites!

       THERSITES.

       Agamemnon—how if he had boils full, an over, generally?

       AJAX.

       Thersites!

       THERSITES. And those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not that a botchy core?

       AJAX.

       Dog!

       THERSITES.

       Then there would come some matter from him;

       I see none now.

       AJAX.

       Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.

       [Strikes him.]

       THERSITES. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!

       AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid’st leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness.

       THERSITES. 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.

       Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

       THERSITES.

       Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

       AJAX.

       The proclamation!

       THERSITES.

       Thou art proclaim’d, a fool, I think.

       AJAX.

       Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.

       THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

       AJAX.

       I say, the proclamation.

       THERSITES.

       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!

       THERSITES.

       Thou shouldst strike him.

       AJAX.

       Cobloaf!

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

       AJAX.

       You whoreson cur!

       [Strikes him.]

       THERSITES.

       Do, do.

       AJAX.

       Thou stool for a witch!

       THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, 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!

       THERSITES.

       You scurvy lord!

       AJAX.

       You cur!

       [Strikes him.]

       THERSITES.

       Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

       [Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.]

       ACHILLES.

       Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?

       How now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?

       THERSITES.

       You see him there, do you?

       ACHILLES.

       Ay; what’s the matter?

       THERSITES.

       Nay, look upon him.

       ACHILLES.

       So I do. What’s the matter?

       THERSITES.

       Nay, but regard him well.

       ACHILLES.

       Well! why, so I do.

       THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

       ACHILLES.

       I know that, fool.

       THERSITES.

       Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

       AJAX.

       Therefore I beat thee.

       THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb’d 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.

       ACHILLES.

       What?

       THERSITES.

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