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But there's more in me, than thou understandit.
Why dost thou fo oppress me with thine eye?

Achil. Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body
Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there,
That I may give the local wound a name ;
And make diftinct the very breach, where-out
Hector's great fpirit flew. Answer me, heav'ns!

Heet. It would discredit the bleft Gods, proud man,
To answer such a question : ftand again.
Think'k thou to catch my life fo pleasantly,
As to prenominate, in nice conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead ?

Achil. I tell thee, yea.

Heit. Wert thou the Oracle to tell me so, I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well, For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that smithied Mars his helm, (24) I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. You wiseft Grecians, pardon me this brag, His infolence draws folly from my lips ; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin; And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, ”Till accident or purpose bring you to’t.

(24) But by the Forge that stythied Mars bis belm,]; So, again, in Hamlet;

And my Imaginations are as foul.

As Vulcan's Stithy. A Stithy, or Stitb, fignifies an Anvil. So CHAUCER in his Knight's Tale.

and the Smith That forgith sharpe Swerdis on the Stith. And the Word is still current in our Northern Counties. But, I own, I suspect 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 dirtiest thing in a Smith's Shop: and then the Forge, or Fure nace, cannot be said to anvil the Helmet. I have corrected;

But by the Forge that smithied Mars's belm. A Smithy is the working Shop of a Smith; and to smitby, is, to perform the Work and Office of a Smith..

You

You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach. The general State, I fear,
Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.

Heft. I pray you, let us see you in the field :
We have had pelting wars since you refus’d
The Grecians' cause.

Achil. Doft thou intreat me, Hector ?
To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death ;
To-night, all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Aga. First, all you Peers of Greece, go to my Tenta There in the full convive

you;

afterwards,
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally intreat him
To taste your bounties : let the trumpets blow;
That this great foldier may his welcome know. [Exeunta

Manent Troilus and Ulysses.
Troi. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

Ulyf. At Menelaus' Tent, most princely Troilus ;
There Diomede doth feast with him to-night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view.
On the fair Cresid.

Troi. Shall I, sweet Lord, be bound to thee fo much,
After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,
To bring me thither?

Ulys. You shall command me, Sir:
As gently tell me, of what honour was
This Cressida in Troy; had the no lover there,
That wails her absence?

Troi. O Sir, to such as boasting shew their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my Lord ?
She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth :
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.

АСТ.

A CT V.

SCE N E, before Achilles's Tent, in the

Grecian Camp.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

I'

ACHILLES.
''L L 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 Therfites.

Enter Thersites.
Achil. How now, thou core of envy? (25)
Thou crusty botch of Nature, what's the news ?

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seem'ft, and idol of ideot-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. Prythee, be silent, boy, I profit not by thy talk; thou art thought to be Achilles's male-variet.

Patr. Male-varlet, you rogue ? what's that ?

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases of the south, 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 crusty batch of Nature,] Thus all the printed Copies : but what is a crusty batch of Nature? We must certainly read, Botch; i. e. Scab, Sore, & c. So, before, in the Beginning of the second AEI.

And those Boils did run - Say fo; Did not ste General run, were 1.el ibat a botchy Core?

imposthume, sciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurahle bone-ach, and the rivelld 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.

Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of ney'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou tasfel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pefter'd with fuch 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 coken 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 Greek, fail fame, honour, or go, or stay,
My major vow lies here; this I'll obey.
Come, come, Therfites, help to trim my tent,
This night in banquetting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

[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 honest 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 obscure Passage, not very commonly understood, and therefore may deserve a Note of Explanation. Therfites, is every where scurrilous, and scandalous in his Observations upon the Greeks. He abuses Menelaus for a stupid Cuckold; and with the same Freedom, I apprehend, here he is charging Agamemnon with being a Wencher ; in saying, he is a Lover of Quails. But what Consonance, may it not be ased, is there, betwixt Quails, and a Mistress ? Rabelais, in the Prologue to his 4th Book, Ipeaks of Cailles coiphees mignonnement chantans ;

and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, (the primitive ftatue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ;) a thrifty shooing-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 an ass were nothing, he is both ass and oxi to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and ass; 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 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 ! Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses,

Neftor, and Diomedes, with lights. Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; there, where we see the light. Heet. I trouble you. Ajax. No, not a whit.

Enter Achilles.
Ulys. 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.

Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' General.
Men. Good night, my Lord.
Heet. Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus.

Ther. Sweet draught-sweet, quoth a sweet fink, sweet fewer.

Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry:

Aga. Good night.

which Motteux, I find, has translated, Coated Quails, and laced Mutton, waggishly singing: - [Of laced Mutton I have already spoken in a Note on the Two Gentlemen of Verona :] And Cotgrave, in his French Dictionary, seems to have had his Eye on this Passage, when he explains Cailles coiffees, Women,

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