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Whose grossness little characters sum up.
Ulyd. And wake him to the answer, think you ?
Uly Give pardon to my Speech;
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
Nep. I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulyl. What Glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Neft. Ulylles, now I relish thy advice,
А с т ІІ.
Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boiles-full,
Talking to himself Ajax. Therfites,
Ther. And those boiles did run- fay fodid not the General run ? were not that a botchy core ?
Ther. Then there would come fome matter from him : I see 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'd'I (9) leaven, fpeak; I will beat thee into handsomness.
Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horse will fooner 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. I would, thou didft itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsom’lt scab in Greece.
Ajax. I say, the proclamation Ther. Thou grumbleft and raileft 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.
Ajax. Mistress Therfites ! Ther. Thou shouldīt strike him. (9) Speak then, you unsalted Leaven, Speak :) This is a Reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no. Authority or Countea nance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Dee gree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid'A Leaven. This, 'ris true, is corrupted and unintelligible ; but the Emendacion, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a Sense apt and consonant to what Ajax would say. “ Thou Lump of sower “ Dough, kneaded up out of a Flower unpurg'd and unlifted, 56 with all the Dross and Bran in it."
mong those of
Ther. He would pound thee into shivers with his fit, as a failor breaks a bisket. Ajax. You whorfon cur!
[Beating bin. Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch !
Ther. Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord ; thou balt no more brain than I have in my elbows : an Alfinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold a
any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thog 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!
[Beating bin. Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. 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 ( Acbille:) 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 frike him, Achilles interpoles.
Ther. I say, this Ajax-
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-
wit to a fool's ?
Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
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 so -a great deal of your wit too lies in your finews, or else there be liars. Hector 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 Ulysses and old Neftor, (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, whose Wit was mould y ere their Grandfires had Nails on their toes,] This is one of these Editors wise Riddles. This is no Folly of Therfires's venring. What! Was Nestor's Wic mouldy, before his Grandlire's Toes had any Nails: that is, was the Grandson an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing.cloaths? Preposterous Nonsense! and yet so easy a Change, as one poor Pronoun for another sets all right and clear.