ULYSSES Nestor!
NESTOR What says Ulysses?
ULYSSES I have a young conception in my brain;
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
NESTOR What is’t?
ULYSSES This ’tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To overbulk us all.
NESTOR Well, and how?
ULYSSES This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
NESTOR The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up:
And, in the publication, make no strain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya,–though, Apollo knows,
‘Tis dry enough,–will, with great speed of judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose
Pointing on him.
ULYSSES And wake him to the answer, think you?
NESTOR Yes, ’tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? Though’t be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute
With their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly poised
In this wild action; for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general;
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is supposed
He that meets Hector issues from our choice
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
As ’twere from us all, a man distill’d
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence the conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
ULYSSES Give pardon to my speech:
Therefore ’tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they’ll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better yet to show,
Shall show the better. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
NESTOR I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
ULYSSES What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he ‘scape Hector fair: if he were foil’d,
Why then, we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We’ll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes:
Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
NESTOR Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.
Exeunt
Act 2
Scene 1
A part of the Grecian camp.
Enter AJAX and THERSITES
AJAX Thersites!
THERSITES Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all 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 would come some matter from him; I see none now.
AJAX Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear?
Beating him
Feel, then.
THERSITES The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
beef-witted lord!
AJAX Speak then, thou vinewedst 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 proclaimed 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 Proserpine’s beauty, ay, that thou
barkest at him.
AJAX Mistress Thersites!
THERSITES Thou shouldest strike him.
AJAX Cobloaf!
THERSITES He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
sailor breaks a biscuit.
AJAX [Beating him]
You whoreson cur!
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 assinego
may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art
here but 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!
THERSITES You scurvy lord!
AJAX [Beating him]
You cur!
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, I do so.
THERSITES But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever 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 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 nineth 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 I say, this Ajax–
Ajax offers to beat 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; for a fools will shame it.
PATROCLUS Good words, Thersites.
ACHILLES What’s the quarrel?
AJAX I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of the
proclamation, and he rails upon me.
THERSITES I serve thee not.
AJAX Well, go to, go to.
THERSITES I serve here voluntarily.
ACHILLES Your last service was sufferance, ’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 have a great
catch, if 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 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
PATROCLUS A good riddance.
ACHILLES Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host: