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Ther. And those boiles did run. -fay fodid not the General run ? were not that a botchy core ?

Ajax. Dog !

Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him: I fee none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, canst thou not hear? feel then.

[Strikes bim. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted Lord!

Ajax. Speak then, you unwinnow'dit (9) leaven, speak; I will beat thee into handsomnefs.

Ther. 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. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Doeft thou think, I have no sense, thou strik't me thus ?

Ajax. The proclamation-
Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.
Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch.

Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; I would make thee the loathfom'ít scab in Greece.

Ajax. I say, the proclamation

Ther. Thou grumbleft and railest every hour on Acbilles, and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as Cerbereus is at Proserpina's Beauty : ay, that thou bar k'it at him.

Ajax. Mistress Therfites !
Ther. Thou shouldIt Itrike him.

(9) Speak then, you unsalted Leaven, Speak;) This is a reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no Authority or Countenance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Degree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid's Leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible ; but the Emendation, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a Sense apt and consonant to what Ajax would say ." Thou Lump of four Dough, kneaded up out of “ a Flower, unpurg'd and unfifted, with all the Dross and Bran " in it.'' P4

Ajax.

Ajax. Cobloaf!

I her. He would pound thee into thivers with his fift, as a failor breaks a bisket. Ajax. You whoreson cur !

[Beating him. Tber. Do, do. Ajax. Thou ftool for a witch !

Iber. Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted Lord ; thou halt no more brain than I have in my elbows : an Afinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass ! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold a. mong those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thod 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!
Ther. You scurvy Lord !
Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him. Tber. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you this ?
How now, Tbersitesi? what's the matter, man.

Tber. You see him there, do you?
Achil, Ay, what's the matter?
her. Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do, what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Acbil. Well, why, I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for whosoever you take him to be, he iş Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himfelf.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Tber. 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. Achil. What? [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.

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Ther. I fay, this Ajax
Achil. Nay, good Ajax.
Ther. Has not not so much wit-
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

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

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not : he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall-
Achil. Will

you
fet your

wit to a fool's ?
Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Pat. Good words, Therfites.
Achil. What's the quarrel ?

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

Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. Ther. Ev'n fo

great deal of your wit too lies in your finews, or else there be liars. Heëtor shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites?

Ther. There's Ulz/jes and old Nefior, (whose wit was mouldy ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes,) (10) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the wair.

Achil. What! what !

(10) There's Ulysses, and old Neftor, wbose Wit was mouldy ere their Grandfires bad Nails on their toes,] This is one of these Editors wife Riddles. This is no Folly of Thersites's venting.

What! Was Nestor's Wit mouldy, before his Grandfire's Tocs had any Nails ? that is, was the Grandson an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing cloaths ? Prepoftcrous Nonsense ! and yet so easy a Change, as one puor Pronoun for another sets all right and clear,

Ther.

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Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! toAjax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I fall speak as much as thou afterwards.

Patr. No more words, Therfites.
Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids

me, shall I :

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit Itirring, and leave the factions of fools. [Exit.

Pair. A good riddance.
Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our

Hoit,
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call fome Knight to arms,
That hath a stomach, such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what : 'tis trash, farewel.

Ajax. Farewel ! who shall answer him?

Ächil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry, otherwise He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you : I'll go learn more of it. [Exe. SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus. Pri. Fter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,

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Deliver Helen, and all damage elle
(As honour, loss of time, travel, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumid
In hot digestion of this cormorant war)
Shall be itruck off. Hector, what say you

to't? Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than 1, As far as touches my particular, yet There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spungy 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

Surety secure; hut modeft Doubt is call'd
Thy beacon of the wife; the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Ev'ry tithe foul ’mongst many thousand dismes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean, of ours.
If we have loft so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, not 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 ?

Troi. Fy, fy, my brother:
Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great as our dread father) in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The vast proportion of his infinite ?
And buckle in a waste most fathomless,
With spans and inches fo diminutive
As fears and reasons ? fy, for godly shame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons ;
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so?

Troi. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother Priest,
You fur your gloves with reasons. Here are your reasons.
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword imploy'd is perilous;
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do fet
The very wings of reason to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb'd ! Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramın'd reason : reason and respect
Make livers pale, and luftyhood deject.

Heft. Brother, she is not worth what the doth cost
The holding.
Troi. What is aught, but as ’tis valued ?

Heet."

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