TROILUS & CRESSIDA. William Shakespeare

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СКАЧАТЬ [AJAX offers to strike him.]

       ACHILLES.

       Nay, good Ajax.

       THERSITES.

       Has not so much wit—

       ACHILLES.

       Nay, I must hold you.

       THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.

       ACHILLES.

       Peace, fool.

       THERSITES. 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—

       ACHILLES.

       Will you set your wit to a fool’s?

       THERSITES.

       No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.

       PATROCLUS.

       Good words, Thersites.

       ACHILLES.

       What’s the quarrel?

       AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

       THERSITES.

       I serve thee not.

       AJAX.

       Well, go to, go to.

       THERSITES.

       I serve here voluntary.

       ACHILLES. Your last service was suff’rance; ‘twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

       THERSITES. E’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch an he knock out either of your brains: ‘a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

       ACHILLES.

       What, with me too, Thersites?

       THERSITES. 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.

       ACHILLES.

       What, what?

       THERSITES.

       Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—

       AJAX.

       I shall cut out your tongue.

       THERSITES. ‘Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.

       PATROCLUS.

       No more words, Thersites; peace!

       THERSITES.

       I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?

       ACHILLES.

       There’s for you, Patroclus.

       THERSITES. I will see you hang’d 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.]

       PATROCLUS.

       A good riddance.

       ACHILLES.

       Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,

       That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,

       Will with a trumpet ‘twixt our tents and Troy,

       Tomorrow morning, call some knight to arms

       That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare

       Maintain I know not what; ‘tis trash. Farewell.

       AJAX.

       Farewell. Who shall answer him?

       ACHILLES.

       I know not; ‘tis put to lott’ry. Otherwise. He knew his man.

       AJAX.

       O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE 2. Troy. PRIAM’S palace

       [Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.]

       PRIAM.

       After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,

       Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:

       ‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—

       As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,

       Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d

       In hot digestion of this cormorant war—

       Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?

       HECTOR.

       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 spongy 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 call’d

       The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches

       To th’ 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, nor 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?

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