ACT 2
Scene 1
...’twere a bone.
Enter Ajax and Thersites.
... Thersites!
Agamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all
over, generally?
... Thersites!
And those boils did run? Say so. Did not the
general run, then? Were not that a botchy core?
... Dog!
Then there would come some matter
from him. I see none now.
...hear? Feel, then.
Strikes him.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
beef-witted lord!
...thee into handsomeness.
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.
...me the proclamation.
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest
me thus?
... The proclamation!
Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
...My fingers itch.
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.
...say, the proclamation!
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.
... Mistress Thersites!
Thou shouldst strike him—
... Cobloaf!
He would pound thee into shivers with his
fist as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
...You whoreson cur!
Strikes him.
Do, do.
...for a witch!
Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord. Thou
hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an
asinego 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.
... You dog!
You scurvy lord!
... You cur!
Strikes him.
Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness, do, camel, do,
do.
...the matter, man?
You see him there, do you?
...what’s the matter?
Nay, look upon him.
...What’s the matter?
Nay, but regard him well.
...so I do.
But yet you look not well upon him, for
whosomever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
...know that, fool.
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
...I beat thee.
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 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.
... What?
I say, this Ajax—
Ajax menaces him.
...Nay, good Ajax.
Has not so much wit—
...must hold you.
As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for
whom he comes to fight.
... Peace, fool!
I would have peace and quietness, but the
fool will not—he there, that he. Look you there.
...to a fool’s?
No, I warrant you. The fool’s will shame it.
...rails upon me.
I serve thee not.
...to, go to.
I serve here voluntary.
...under an impress.
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; he were as good crack a fusty nut with
no kernel.
...me too, Thersites?
There’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit
was moldy ere your grandsires had nails on
their toes—yoke you like draft-oxen and make
you plow up the wars.
... What? What?
Yes, good sooth. To, Achilles! To, Ajax! To—
...out your tongue.
’Tis no matter. I shall speak as much as
thou afterwards.
...words, Thersites. Peace.
I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach
bids me, shall I?
...for you, Patroclus.
I will see you hanged like clodpolls ere I
come any more to your tents. I will keep where
there is wit stirring and leave the faction of fools.
He exits.
Scene 3
...will wake him.
Enter Thersites, alone.
How now, Thersites? What, lost in the
labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry
it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O, worthy
satisfaction! Would it were otherwise, that I could
beat him whilst he railed at me. ’Sfoot, I’ll learn to
conjure and raise devils but I’ll see some issue of
my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a
rare enginer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine
it, the walls will stand till they fall of
themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods;
and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy
caduceus, if you take not that little, little, less than
little wit from them that they have, which short-armed
ignorance itself knows is so abundant
scarce it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
from a spider without drawing their massy irons
and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on
the whole camp! Or rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache!
For that, methinks, is the curse depending
on those that war for a placket. I have said my
prayers, and devil Envy say “Amen.”—What ho,
my lord Achilles!
...in and rail.
If I could ’a remembered a gilt counterfeit,
thou couldst not have slipped out of my contemplation.
But it is no matter. Thyself upon thyself! The
common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance,
be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from
a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy
blood be thy direction till thy death; then if she
that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be
sworn and sworn upon ’t she never shrouded any
but lazars. Amen.
Enter Patroclus.
Where’s Achilles?
...thou in prayer?
Ay. The heavens hear me!
...Come, what’s Agamemnon?
Thy commander, Achilles.—Then, tell me,
Patroclus, what’s Achilles?
...thee, what’s Thersites?
Thy knower, Patroclus. Then, tell me, Patroclus,
what art thou?
...O tell, tell.
I’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon
commands Achilles, Achilles is my lord, I am
Patroclus’ knower, and Patroclus is a fool.
... You rascal!
Peace, fool. I have not done.
...privileged man.—Proceed, Thersites.
Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool,
Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a
fool.
...Derive this. Come.
Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command
Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded of
Agamemnon, Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool,
and this Patroclus is a fool positive.
...I a fool?
Make that demand of the creator. It suffices
me thou art.
Enter at a distance Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax, and Calchas.
Look you, who comes here?
...with me, Thersites.
Here is such patchery, such juggling, and
such knavery. All the argument is a whore and a
cuckold, a good quarrel to draw emulous factions
and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on
the subject, and war and lechery confound all!
He exits.
ACT 3
Scene 3
...full of view.
Enter Thersites.
...A labor saved.
A wonder!
... What?
Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for
himself.
... How so?
He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgeling
that he raves in saying nothing.
...can that be?
Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock—
a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess
that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set
down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politic regard,
as who should say “There were wit in this
head an ’twould out”—and so there is, but it lies
as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not
show without knocking. The man’s undone forever,
for if Hector break not his neck i’ th’ combat,
he’ll break ’t himself in vainglory. He knows not
me. I said “Good morrow, Ajax,” and he replies
“Thanks, Agamemnon.” What think you of this
man that takes me for the General? He’s grown a
very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of
opinion! A man may wear it on both sides, like a
leather jerkin.
...to him, Thersites.
Who, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody. He professes
not answering; speaking is for beggars; he
wears his tongue in ’s arms. I will put on his presence.
Let Patroclus make his demands to me. You
shall see the pageant of Ajax.
...cetera. Do this.
who is playing Ajax
...bless great Ajax.
Hum!
...the worthy Achilles—
Ha?
...to his tent—
Hum!
...safe-conduct from Agamemnon.
Agamemnon?
...Ay, my lord.
Ha!
...you to ’t?
God b’ wi’ you, with all my heart.
...Your answer, sir.
If tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the
clock it will go one way or other. Howsoever, he
shall pay for me ere he has me.
...Your answer, sir.
Fare you well with all my heart.
He pretends to exit.
...tune, is he?
No, but he’s out of tune thus. What music
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his
brains I know not. But I am sure none, unless the
fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on.
...to him straight.
Let me bear another to his horse, for that’s
the more capable creature.
...bottom of it.
Would the fountain of your mind were clear
again, that I might water an ass at it. I had rather
be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance.
He exits.
ACT 5
Scene 1
...Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
...what’s the news?
Why, thou picture of what thou seemest and
idol of idiot-worshippers, here’s a letter for thee.
...From whence, fragment?
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
...the tent now?
The surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.
...need these tricks?
Prithee, be silent, boy. I profit not by thy
talk. Thou art said to be Achilles’ male varlet.
...rogue! What’s that?
Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten
diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures,
catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back, lethargies,
cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, whissing
lungs, bladders full of impostume, sciaticas,
limekilns i’ th’ palm, incurable bone-ache, and the
rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take
again such preposterous discoveries.
...to curse thus?
Do I curse thee?
...indistinguishable cur, no.
No? Why art thou then exasperate, thou idle
immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou green sarsenet
flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal’s purse,
thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such
waterflies, diminutives of nature!
... Out, gall!
Finch egg!
...spent. Away, Patroclus.
With too much blood and too little brain,
these two may run mad; but if with too much brain
and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of madmen.
Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough
and one that loves quails, but he has not so much
brain as earwax. And the goodly transformation
of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull—the primitive
statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a
thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his
brother’s leg—to what form but that he is should
wit larded with malice and malice forced with
wit turn him to? To an ass were nothing; he is both
ass and ox. To an ox were nothing; he is both ox
and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a
toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without
a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus! I
would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I
would be, if I were not Thersites, for I care not to be
the louse of a lazar so I were not Menelaus.
Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomedes, with lights.
Heyday! Sprites and fires!
...lord Menelaus.
aside
Sweet draught. “Sweet,” quoth he?
Sweet sink, sweet sewer.
...enter my tent.
That same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue,
a most unjust knave. I will no more trust him when
he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses. He
will spend his mouth and promise like Brabbler
the hound, but when he performs, astronomers
foretell it; it is prodigious, there will come some
change. The sun borrows of the moon when
Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see
Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a
Trojan drab and uses the traitor Calchas his tent.
I’ll after. Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets!
He exits.
Scene 2
...comes to you.
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance, and then, apart from them, Thersites.
...at first sight.
aside
And any man may sing her, if he
can take her clef. She’s noted.
...more to folly.
aside
Roguery!
...have me do?
aside
A juggling trick: to be secretly open!
...a little while.
aside
How the devil Luxury, with his fat
rump and potato finger, tickles these together.
Fry, lechery, fry!
...with Troilus’s sleeve.
aside
Now the pledge, now, now, now!
...me no more.
aside
Now she sharpens. Well said,
whetstone.
...full of turpitude.
aside
A proof of strength she could not publish more,
Unless she said “My mind is now turned whore.”
...this were she.
aside
Will he swagger himself out on ’s
own eyes?
...Falling on Diomed.
aside
He’ll tickle it for his concupy.
...Accept distracted thanks.
Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I
would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would
bode. Patroclus will give me anything for the intelligence
of this whore. The parrot will not do more
for an almond than he for a commodious drab.
Lechery, lechery, still wars and lechery! Nothing
else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!
He exits.
Scene 4
...with her deeds.
Enter Thersites.
Now they are clapper-clawing one another.
I’ll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet,
Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish
young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm.
I would fain see them meet, that that same young
Trojan ass that loves the whore there might send
that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve
back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless
errand. O’ th’ t’other side, the policy of those
crafty swearing rascals—that stale old mouse-eaten
dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox,
Ulysses—is proved not worth a blackberry. They
set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against
that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles. And now is the
cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will
not arm today, whereupon the Grecians begin to
proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill
opinion.
Enter Diomedes, and Troilus pursuing him.
Soft! Here comes sleeve and t’ other.
Thersites moves aside.
...at thee!They fight.
Hold thy whore, Grecian! Now for thy
whore, Trojan! Now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
...blood and honor?
No, no, I am a rascal, a scurvy railing
knave, a very filthy rogue.
...believe thee. Live.
God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me!
But a plague break thy neck for frighting me!
What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think
they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at
that miracle—yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I’ll
seek them.
He exits.
Scene 8
...great must die.
Enter Thersites; then Menelaus fighting Paris.
The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at
it. Now, bull! Now, dog! Loo, Paris, loo! Now, my
double-horned Spartan! Loo, Paris, loo! The bull
has the game. Ware horns, ho!
...slave, and fight.
What art thou?
...son of Priam’s.
I am a bastard too. I love bastards. I am
bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind,
bastard in valor, in everything illegitimate. One
bear will not bite another, and wherefore should
one bastard? Take heed: the quarrel’s most ominous
to us. If the son of a whore fight for a whore,
he tempts judgment. Farewell, bastard.
He exits.