Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You whoreson cur! Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch! [Beating him. Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a barbarian slave. If thou 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. Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do. Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you thus ?—— How now, Thersites! what's the matter, man? Ther. You see him there, do you? Achil. Ay; what's the matter? Achil. So I do what's the matter? 'a crusty uneven loaf,' that it may suit Thersites; and Mr. Steevens says it is so used in the midland counties; but Mr. Steevens finds an usage where he wants it. Whereas, if Thersites calls Ajax cob-loaf, it then retains its analogous sense, of a 'large, clumsy loaf, and the succeeding allusion to a biscuit is natural, and in its place. Though you are like a large loaf, Achilles would pound you like a biscuit. The passage little deserves the labour of correcting, had not the correction been so obvious." But Nares's so-called "obvious correction" (founded on the error of the quarto) is undoubtedly wrong. "Cobloaf" applies well to the personal deformity of Thersites. ("Cob-loaf, a misshapen loaf of bread," &c. Capell's Gloss. Cobloaf. A crusty uneven loaf, with a round top to it. Loaves called cobbs are still made in Oxfordshire. See Edwards's Old English Customs, p. 25." Halliwell's Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words, &c.)-I may add that "Thou shouldst strike him" is equivalent to "You had better strike him." 66 Achil. Well! why, I do so. 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. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ajux. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 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? Ther. I say, this Ajax [Ajax offers to beat him, Achilles interposes. Achil. Nay, good Ajax. Ther. Has 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 damned cur! I shall— Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites. 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. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your (45) grandsires had nails on their toesyoke you like draught-oxen, and make you plough up the wars. Achil. What, what? Ther. Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax, to! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards. Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace! Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach (46) bids me, shall I ? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents: I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. Patr. A good riddance. [Exit. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host: That Hector, by the fifth hour(47) of the sun, Achil. I know not,-'tis put to lottery; otherwise (45) your] The old eds. have "their." (1) brach] Rowe's correction.-The old eds. have "brooch.""Brach' certainly means [here] a bitch, and not a dog, which renders the expression more abusive and offensive. Thersites calls Patroclus 'Achilles' brach' for the same reason that he afterwards calls him his male harlot [but see note 148] and his masculine whore." MASON. (47) the fifth hour] So the folio.-The quarto has "the first houre:" but, as Mr. Collier observes, it would seem by what Thersites says afterwards (p. 76),—“If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other,"-that "fifth hour" is right. SCENE II. Troy. A room in PRIAM's palace. Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS. As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd Shall be struck off: "-Hector, what say you to't? Yet, dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out "Who knows what follows?" Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd If we have lost so many tenths of ours, What merit's in that reason which denies The yielding of her up? Tro. Fie, fie, 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 (49) The past-proportion of his infinite?] "Thus read both the copies. The meaning is, that greatness to which no measure bears any proportion.' The modern editors silently give 'The vast proportion-' JOHNSON.-But see note 37 on The Comedy of Errors for examples of the proneness of printers to blunder in words beginning with the letter v. And buckle-in a waist most fathomless With spans and inches so diminutive. As fears and reasons? fie, for godly (49) 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? Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: You know an enemy intends you harm; You know a sword employ'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 set 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, Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valu'd? It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god; Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election. Is led on in the conduct of my will; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores (49) godly] "Qy. 'goodly,' with Capell's [conjecture in his] Var. R." W. N. LETTSOM. |