The Grecian Camp. Before ACHILLES' Tent. |
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Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. |
Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, |
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. |
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. |
Patr. Here comes Thersites. |
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Enter THERSITES. |
Achil. How now, thou core of envy! |
Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? |
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. |
Achil. From whence, fragment? |
Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. |
Patr. Who keeps the tent now? |
Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. |
Patr. Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks? |
Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy: I profit not by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. |
Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that? |
Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilnsi' the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries! |
Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? |
Ther. Do I curse thee? |
Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no. |
Ther. No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah! how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies, diminutives of nature. |
Patr. Out, gall! |
Ther. Finch egg! |
Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite |
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. |
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, |
A token from her daughter, my fair love, |
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep |
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: |
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; |
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. |
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; |
This night in banqueting must all be spent. |
Away, Patroclus! [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. |
Ther. 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 ear-wax: 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. Hey-day! spirits and fires! |
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Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights. |
Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. |
Ajax. No, yonder 'tis; |
There, where we see the lights. |
Hect. I trouble you. |
Ajax. No, not a whit. |
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. |
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Re-enter ACHILLES. |
Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all. |
Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good-night. |
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. |
Hect. Thanks and good-night to the Greeks' general. |
Men. Good-night, my lord. |
Hect. Good-night, sweet Lord Menelaus. |
Ther. Sweet draught: 'sweet,' quoth a'! sweet sink, sweet sewer. |
Achil. Good-night and welcome both at once, to those |
That go or tarry. |
Agam. Good-night. [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS. |
Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, |
Keep Hector company an hour or two. |
Dio. I cannot, lord; I have important business, |
The tide whereof is now. Good-night, great Hector. |
Hect. Give me your hand. |
Ulyss. [Aside to TROILUS.] Follow his torch; he goes to Calchas' tent. |
I'll keep you company. |
Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. |
Hect. And so, good-night. [Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following. |
Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. [Exeunt ACHILLES, HECTOR, AJAX, and NESTOR. |
Ther. 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' tent. I'll after. Nothing but lechery! all incontinent varlets. [Exit. |
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