But there's more in me, than thou understandst. Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body Achil. I tell thee, yea. Helt. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me fo, I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well, Ajax. Do not chafe thee, coufin; And you, Achilles, let thefe threats alone,. 'Till accident or purpose bring you to't. (24) But by the Forge that tythied Mars bis helm,}; So, again, in Hamlet; And my Imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's Stithy. A Stithy, or Stith, fignifies an Anvil. So CHAUCER in his Knight's Tale. and the Smith That forgith fharpe Swerdis on the Stith. And the Word is fill current in our Northern Counties. But, I own, I fufpect this not to have been our Author's Word, either in Hamlet or here. For, in the first Place, an Anvil is far from being the dirtieft thing in a Smith's Shop: and then the Forge, or Furnace, cannot be said to anvil the Helmet. I have corrected; But by the Forge that smithied Mars's helm. A Smithy is the working Shop of a Smith; and to fmithy, is, to perform the Work and Office of a Smith.. You: You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector, He. I pray you, let us fee you in the field: Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector? Hect. Thy hand upon that match. Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece, go to my Tent, There in the full convive you; afterwards, As Hector's leifure and your bounties shall To tafte your bounties: let the trumpets blow; Troi. My Lord Ulyffes, tell me, I beseech you, Troi. Shall I, fweet Lord, be bound to thee fo much, After you part from Agamemnon's Tent, To bring me thither ? Ulys. You fhall command me, Sir: As gently tell me, of what honour was This Crefida in Troy; had the no lover there, Troi. O Sir, to fuch as boafting fhew their scars, But, ftill, fweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.. ACT A CT V. SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp. I' Enter Achilles and Patroclus. ACHILLE S. "'LL heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my fcimitar l'll cool to-morrow. Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. Patr. Here comes Therfites. Enter Therfites. Achil. How now, thou core of envy? (25) Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Male-varlet, you rogue? what's that? Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of (25) How now, thau core of Envy? Thou crufty batch of Nature,] Thus all the printed Copies: but what is a crufty batch of Nature? We must certainly read, Botch; i. e. Scab, Sore, &c. So, before, in the Beginning of the fecond A&t. And thofe Boils did run- -Say fo; run, were not that a botchy Core ? Did not the General impoft impofthume, fciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurable bone-ach, and the rivell'd fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous discoveries. Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curfe thus ? Ther. Do I curse thee? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorefon indiftinguishable cur. Ther. No why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial skein of fley'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou tafel of a prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pefter'd with fuch water-flies, diminutives of Nature. Patr. Out, gall! Ther. Finch-egg! Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite A token from her daughter, my fair love, An oath that I have fworn. I will not break it; [Exe. Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, thefe 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 honeft fellow enough, and one that loves quails, (26) but he hath not so much brain as ear-wax; and (26) And one that loves Quails,] This I take to be an obfcure Paffage, not very commonly understood, and therefore may deserve a Note of Explanation. Therfites, is every where fcurrilous, and fcandalous in his Obfervations upon the Grecks. He abuses Menelaus for a ftupid Cuckold; and with the fame Freedom, I apprehend, here he is charging Agamemnon with being a Wencher; in saying, he is a Lover of Quails. But what Confonance, may it not be asked, is there, betwixt Quails, and a Mistress? Rabelais, in the Prologue to his 4th Book, fpeaks of Cailles coiphees mignonnement chantans ; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his bro ther, the bull, (the primitive ftatue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ;) a thrifty fhooing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg; to what form, but that he is, fhould wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him? to an afs were nothing, he is both afs and oxi to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and afs; to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizzard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care : but to be Menelaus, I would confpire against Destiny. Afk me not what I would be, if I were not Therfites; for I care not, to be the loufe of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus Hey-day, fpirits and fires ! Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, and Diomedes, with lights. Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; there, where we see the light. Heat. I trouble you. Ajax. No, not a whit. Enter Achilles. Uly. Here comes himself to guide you. Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. Aga. So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night, Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you. Heat. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' General. Men. Good night, my Lord. Heat. Good night, fweet Lord Menelaus. Ther. Sweet draught-fweet, quoth afweet fink, fweet fewer. Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry. Aga. Good night. which Motteux, I find, has tranflated, Coated Quails, and laced Mutton, waggishly finging. [Of laced Mutton I have already fpoken in a Note on the Two Gentlemen of Verona :] And Cotgrave, in his French Dictionary, feems to have had his Eye on this Paffage, when he explains Cailles coiffees, Women. |