Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.
Enter Pandarus and Troylus
Troylus. Call here my Varlet, Ile vnarme againe.
Why should I warre without the walls of Troy
That finde ſuch cruell battell here within?
Each Troian that is maſter of his heart,
Let him to field, Troylus, alas hath none.
Pan. Will this geere nere be mended?
Troy. The Greeks are strong, & and skilful to their ſtrength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceneſſe Valiant:
But I am weaker then a womans teare:
Tamer then ſleepe, fonder then ignorance;
Leſſe valiant then the Virgin in the night,
And skillneſſe as vnpractis’d Infancie.
Pan. Well, I haue told you enough of this: For my part, Ile not meddle nor make no farther. Hee that will haue a Cake out of the Wheate muſt needes tarry the grinding.
Troy. Haue I not tarried?
Pan. I the grinding, but you muſt tarry the bolting.
Troy. Haue I not tarried?
Pan. I the bolting; but you muſt tarry the leau’ing.
Troy. Still haue I tarried.
Pan. I to the leauening: but heeres yet in the word hereafter the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the heating of the Ouen, and the Baking; nay, you muſt ſtay the cooling too, or you may chance to burne your lips.
Troy. Patience herſelfe, what Goddeſſe ere ſhe be,
Doth leſſer blench at ſufferance, then I doe:
At Priams Royall Table doe I ſit;
And when faire Creſſid comes into my thoughts,
So (Traitor) then ſhe comes, when ſhe is thence.
Pan. Well:
She look’d yeſternight fairer, then euer I ſaw her looke,
Or any woman eſſe.
Troy. I was about to tell thee, when my heart,
As wedged with a ſigh, would riue in twaine,
Leaſt Hector or my Father ſhould perceiue me:
I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a-ſcorne)
Buried this ſigh, in wrinkle of a ſmile:
But ſorrow, that is couch’d in ſeeming gladneſſe,
Is like that mirth, Fate turnes to ſudden sadneſſe.
Pan. And her haire were not ſomewhat darker then Helens, well go too, there were no more compariſon betweene the Women. But for my part ſhe is my Kinſwoman, I would not (as they tearme it) praiſe it, but I wold ſome-body had heard her talk yeſterday as I did: I will not dispraiſe your ſiſter Caſſandra’s wit, but—
Troy. Oh Pandarus! I tell thee Pandarus;
When I doe tell thee, there my hopes lye drown’d:
Reply not in how many Fadomes deepe
They lye indrench’d. I tell thee, I am mad
In Creſſids loue. Thou anſwer’ſt ſhe is Faire,
Powr’ſt in the open Vlcer of my heart,
Her Eyes, her Haire, her Cheeke, her Gate, her Voice,
Handleſt in thy diſcourſe. O that her Hand
(In whoſe compariſon, all whites are Inke)
Writing their owne reproach; to whoſe ſoft ſeizure,
The Cignets Downe is harſh, and ſpirit of Senſe
Hard as the palme of Plough-man. This thou tel’ſt me;
As true thou tel’ſt me when I ſay I loue her:
But ſaying thus, inſtead of Oyle and Balme,
Thou lai’ſt in euery gaſh that loue hath giuen me,
The Knife that made it.
Pan. I ſpeak no more then truth.
Troy. Thou do’ſt not ſpeake ſo much.
Pan. Faith, Ile not meddle in’t: Let her be as ſhee is, if ſhe be faire, ’tis the better for her, and ſhe be not, ſhe ha’s the mends in her owne hands.
Troy. Good Pandarus: How now, Pandarus?
Pan. I haue had my Labour for my trauell, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; Gone betweene and betweene, but ſmall thankes for my labour.
Troy. What art thou angry Pandarus? what with me?
Pan. Becauſe ſhe’s Kinne to me, therefore ſhee’s not ſo fair as Helen, and ſhe were not kin to me, ſhe would be as faire on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not and ſhe were a Black-a Moore, ’tis all one to me.
Troy. Say I ſhe is not faire?
Pan. I doe not care whether you doe or no. Shee’s a Foole to ſtay behinde her Father: Let her to the Greeks, and ſo Ile tell her the next time I ſee her: for my part, Ile meddle nor make no more i’ th’ matter.
Troy. Pandarus?
Pan. Not I.
Troy. Sweete Pandarus.
Pan. Pray you ſpeak no more to me, I will leaue all as I found it, and there an end.
Exit Pand.
Sound Alarum
Tro. Peace you vngracious Clamors, peace rude ſounds,
Fooles on both ſides, Helen muſt needs be faire,
When with your bloud you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight vpon this Argument:
It is too staru’d a ſubiect for my Sword,
But Pandarus. O Gods! How do you plague me?
I cannot come to Creſſid but by Pandar,
And he’s as teachy to be woo’d to woe,
As ſhe is ſtubborne, chast againſt all ſuite.
Tell me Apollo for thy Daphnes Loue
What Creſſid is, what Pandar, and what we:
Her bed is India, there ſhe lies, a Pearle,
Between our Ilium, and where ſhee recides
Let it be cald the wild and wandring flood,
Our ſelf the Merchant, and this ſayling Pandar,
Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our Barke.
Alarum. Enter Æneas.
Æne. How now Prince Troylus?
Wherefore not a field?
Troy. Becauſe not there; this womans anſwer ſorts.
For womaniſh it is to be from thence:
What newes Æneas from the field to day?
Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troy. By whom Æneas?
Æne. Troylus by Menelaus.
Troy. Let Paris bleed, ’tis but a ſcar to ſcorne,
Paris is gor’d with Menelaus horne.
Alarum,
Æne. Harke what good ſport is out of Towne to day.
Troy. Better at home, if would I might were may:
But to the ſport abroad, are you bound thither?
Æne. In all ſwift haſte.
Troy. Come, goe wee then togither.
Exeunt.
Enter Creſſid and her man.
Cre. Who were thoſe went by?
Man. Queen Hecuba, and Hellen.
Cre. And whether go they?
Man. Vp to the Eaſterne Tower,
Whoſe height commands as ſubiect all the vaile,
To ſee the battell: Hector whoſe pacience,
Is as a Vertue fixt, to day was mou’d.
He chides Andromache and ſtrooke his Armorer,
And like as there were husbandry in Warre
Before the Sunne rose, hee was harneſt lyte,
And to the field goe’s he; where euery flower
Did as a Prophet weepe what it foreſaw
In Hectors wrath.
Cre. What was his cauſe of anger?
Man. The noiſe goe’s this;
There is among the Greekes,
A Lord of Troian blood, Nephew to Hector,
They call him Aiax.
Cre. Good; and what of him?
Man. They ſay he is a very man per ſe and stands alone.
Cre. So do all men, vnleſſe they are drunke, ſicke, or haue no legges.
Man. This man Lady, hath rob’d many beaſts of their particular additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churliſh as the Beare, ſlow as the Elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, that his valour is cruſht into folly, his folly ſauced with diſcretion: there is no man hath a vertue, that he hath not a glimpſe of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries ſome ſtaine of it. He is melancholy without cauſe, and merry againſt the haire, hee hath the ioynts of euery thing, but euery thing ſo out of ioynt, that hee is a gowtie Briareus, many hands and no vſe; or purblinded Argus, all eyes and no ſight.
Cre. But how ſhould this man that makes me ſmile, make Hector angry?
Man. They ſay he yeſterday cop’d Hector in the battle and ſtroke him downe, the diſdaind & ſhame whereof, hath euer since kept Hector fasting and waking.
Enter Pandarus.
Cre. Who comes here?
Man. Madam your Vncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hectors a gallant man.
Man. As may be in the world Lady.
Pan. What’s that? what’s that?
Cre. Good morrow Vncle Pandarus.
Pan. Good morrow Cozen Creſſid: what do you talke of? good morrow Alexander. how do you Cozen? when were you at Illium?
Cre. This morning Vncle.
Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gon ere yea came to Illium? Hellen was not vp? was ſhe?
Cre. Hector was gone but Hellen was not up?
Pan. E’ene ſo; Hector was ſtirring early.
Cre. That were we talking of and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cre. So he ſaies here.
Pan. True, he was ſo; I know the cauſe too, heele lay about him to day I can tell them that and there’s Troylus will not come farre behind him, let them take heede of Troylus; I can tell them that too.
Cre. What, is he angry too?
Pan. Who, Troylus?
Troylus is the better man of the two.
Cre. Oh Iupiter; there’s no compariſon.
Pan. What not betweene Troylus and Hector? do you know a man if you ſee him?
Cre. I, if I euer ſaw him before and knew him.
Pan. Well, I ſay Troylus is Troylus.
Cre. Then you ſay as I ſay,
For I am ſure he is not Hector.
Pan. No not Hector is not Troylus in ſome degrees.
Cre. ’Tis just to each of them he is himſelfe.
Pan. Himſelfe? alas, poore Troylus I would he were.
Cre. So he is.
Pan. Condition I had gone bare-foote to India.
Cre. He is not Hector.
Pan. Himſelfe? no? hee’s not himſselfe, would a were himſelfe: well, the Gods are aboue, time muſt friend or end: well Troylus well, I would my heart were in her body; no, Hector is not a better man then Troylus.
Cre. Excuſe me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.
Pan. Th’others not come too’t, you ſhall tell me another tale when th’others come too’t: Hector ſhall not haue his will this yeare.
Cre. He ſhall not neede it if he haue his owne.
Pan. Nor his qualities.
Cre. No matter.
Pan. Nor his beautie.
Cre. ’Twould not become him, his own’s better.
Pan. You haue no iudgment Neece; Hellen her ſelfe ſwore th’other day that Troylus for a browne favour (for ſo ’tis I must confeſſe) not browne neither.
Cre. No, but browne.
Pan. Faith, to ſay truth, browne and not browne.
Cre. To ſay the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais’d his complexion above Paris.
Cre. Why Paris hath colour inough.
Pan. So he has.
Cre. Then Troylus should haue too much, if ſhe prasi’d him aboue, his complexion is higher then his, he hauing colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praiſe for a good complexion. I had as lieue Hellens golden tongue had commended Troylus for a copper noſe.
Pan. I ſweare to you,
I think Hellen loues him better then Paris.
Cre. Then ſhee’s a merry Greeke indeed.
Pan. Nay I am ſure ſhe does, ſhe came to him th’other day into the compaſt window, and you know he has not paſt three or foure haires on his chinne.
Cre. Indeed a Tapsters Arithmetique may ſoone bring his particulars therein to a totall.
Pan. Why he is very yong, and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.
Cre. Is he ſo young a man, and ſo old a lifter?
Pan. But to prooue to you that Hellen loues him, ſhe came and puts me her white hand to his clouen chin.
Cre. Juno haue mercy, how came it clouen?
Pan. Why, you know ’tis dimpled,
I thinke his ſmyling becomes him better then any man in all Phrigia.
Cre. Oh he ſmiles valiantly.
Pan. Dooes hee not?
Cre. Oh yes, and ’twere a clow’d in Autumne.
Pan. Why go to then, but to proue to you that Hellen loues Troylus.
Cre. Troylus will ſtand to thee
Proofe, if youle prooue it ſo.
Pan. Troylus? why he eſteemes her no more then I eſteeme an addle egge.
Cre. If you loue an addle egge as well as you loue an idle head, you would eate chickens i’ th’ ſhell.
Pan. I cannot chuſe but laugh to thinke how ſhe tickled his chin, indeed ſhee has a maruel’s white hand I muſt needs confeſſe.
Cre. Without the racke.
Pan. And ſhee takes vpon her to ſpie a white haire on his chinne.
Cre. Alas poore chin? many a wart is richer.
Pan. But there was ſuch laughing, Queen Hecuba laught that her eyes ran ore.
Cre. With Milſtones.
Pan. And Caſſandra laught.
Cre. But there was a more temperate fire vnder the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run ore too?
Pan. And Hector laught.
Cre. At what was all this laughing?
Pan. Marry at the white haire that Hellen ſpied on Troylus chin.
Cre. And t’had beene a greene haire, I ſhould haue laught too.
Pan. They laught not ſo much at the haire, as at his pretty anſwere.
Cre. What was his anſwere?
Pan. Quoth ſhee, heere’s but two and fifty haires on your chinne; and one of them is white.
Cre. This is her queſtion.
Pand. That’s true, make no queſtion of that, two and fiftie haires quoth hee, and one white, that white haire is my Father, and all the reſt are his Sonnes. Iupiter quoth ſhe, which of theſe haires is Paris my husband? The forked one quoth he, pluckt out and giue it him: but there was ſuch laughing, and Hellen so bluſht, and Paris ſo chaft, and all the reſt ſo laught, that it paſt.
Cre. So let it now,
For it has beene a great while going by.
Pan. Well, Cozen,
I told you a thing yeſterday, think on’t.
Cre. So I does.
Pan. Ile be ſworne ’tis true, he will weepe you an ’twere a man borne in Aprill.
Sound a retreat.
Cre. And Ile ſpring vp in his teares, an ’twere a nettle againſt May.
Pan. Harke they are comming from the field, shal we ſtand vp here and ſee them, as they paſſe toward Illium, good Neece do, ſweet Neece Creſſida.
Cre. At your pleaſure.
Pan. Heere, heere, here’s an excellent place, heere we may ſee moſt brauely, Ile tel you them all by their names, as they paſſe by, but mark Troylus aboue the reſt.
Enter Æneas.
Cre. Speake not ſo low’d.
Pan. That’s Æneas. is not that a braue man, hee’s one of the flowers of Troy I can you, but merke Troylus. you ſhall ſee anon.
Cre. Who’s that?
Enter Antenor.
Pan. That’s Antenor, he has a ſhrow’d wit I can tell you, and hee’s a man good inough, hee’s one o’th ſoundeſt iudgment in Troy whoſoeuer, and a proper man of perſon: when comes Troylus? Ile ſhew you Troylus anon, if hee ſee me, you ſhall ſee him nod at me.
Cre. Will he giue you the nod?
Pan. You ſhall ſee.
Cre. If he do, the rich ſhall haue more.
Enter Hector.
Pan. That’s Hector, that, that, looke you, that there’s a fellow. Goe thy way Hector, there’s a braue man Neece, O braue Hector! Looke how hee lookes? there’s a countenance; iſt not a braue man?
Cre. O braue man!
Pan. Is a not? It dooes a mans heart good, looke you what hacks are on his Helmet. looke you yonder, do you ſee? Looke you there? There’s no ieſting, laying on, tak’t off, who ill as they ſay, there be hacks.
Cre. Be thoſe with Swords?
Enter Paris.
Pan. Swords, any thing, he cares not, and the diuell come to him, it’s all one, by Gods lid it dooes ones heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: looke yee yonder Neece, iſt not a gallant man to, iſt not? Why this is braue now: who ſaid he came hurt home to day? Hee’s not hurt, why this will do Hellens heart good now, ha? Would I could ſee Troylus now, you ſhall Troylus anon.
Cre. Whoſe that
Enter Hellenus.
Pan. That’s Hellenus, I maruell where Troylus is, that’s Helenus, I thinke he went not forth to day: that’s Hellenus.
Cre. Can Hellenus fight, Vncle?
Pan. Hellenus no: yes heele fight indifferent, well, I maruell where Troylus is; harke, do you not heare the people crie Troylus? Hellenus is a Prieſt.
Cre. What ſneaking fellow comes yonder?
Enter Troylus
Pan. Where? Yonder? That’s Daphobus. ’Tis Troylus! Ther’s a man Neece, hem; Braue Troylus, the Prince of Chiualrie.
Cre. Peace, for ſhame, peace.
Pan. Marke him, not him: O braue Troylus: looke well vpon him Neece, looke you how his Sword is bloudied, and his Helme more hackt than Hectors, and how he lookes, and how he goes. O admirable youth! he ne’er ſaw three and twenty. Go thy way Troylus, go thy way, had I a ſiſter were a Grace, or a daughter a Goddeſſe, hee ſhould take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? Paris is durt to him, and, I warrant, Helen to change, would giue money to boot.
Enter common Soldiers.
Cre. Heere come more.
Pan. Aſſes, fooles, dolts, chaff and bran, chaffe and bran; porredge after meat. I could liue and dye i’ th’ eyes of Troylus. Ne’re looke, ne’re looke; the Eagles are gon, Crowes and Dawes, Crowes and Dawes: I had rather be ſuch a man as Troylus, then Agamemnon and all Greece.
Cre. There is among the Greekes Achilles, a better man then Troylus.
Pan. Achilles? A Dray-man, a Porter, a very Camell.
Cre. Well well.
Pan. Well, well? Why haue you any diſcretion? haue you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good ſhape, diſcourſe, manhood, learning, gentleneſſe, vertue, youth, liberality, and ſo forth; the Spice, and ſalt that ſeaſon a man?
Cre. I, a minc’d man and then to be bak’d with no Date in the pye, for then the man’s dates out.
Pan. You are ſuch another woman, one knowes not at what ward you lye.
Cre. Vpon my backe, to defend my belly; vpon my wit, to defend my wiles; vppon my ſecrecy, to defend mine honeſty; my Maske, to defend my beauty, and you to defend all theſe: and at all theſe wardes I lye at, at a thouſand watches.
Pan. Say one of your watches.
Cre. Nay Ile watch you for that, and that’s one of the cheefeſt of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not haue hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow, unleſſ it ſwell paſt hiding, and then it’s paſt watching
Enter Boy.
Pan. You are ſuch another.
Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
Pan. Where?
Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him.
Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.
Cre. Adieu, uncle.
Pan. I will be with you, niece, by and by.
Cre. To bring, uncle.
Pan. Ay, a token from Troylus.
Exit
Cre. By the same token, you are a bawd.
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice,
He offers in another’s enterprise;
But more in Troylus thousand-fold I see
Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be,
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.
That she belov’d knows nought that knows not this:
Men prize the thing ungain’d more than it is.
That she was never yet that ever knew
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue;
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.
Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.
Exit
Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Vlyſſes, Diomedes, Menelaus, and others
Agam. Princes,
What grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks?
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below
Fails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d,
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
That we come short of our suppose so far
That after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abash’d behold our works
And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else
But the protractive trials of great Jove
To find persistive constancy in men;
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin.
But in the wind and tempest of her frown
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass or matter by itself
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
Nestor. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements
Like Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now
Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide
In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage
As rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise,
And with an accent tun’d in self-same key
Retorts to chiding fortune.
Vlyſ. Agamemnon,
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up-hear what Vlyſſes speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation
The which, [To Agamemnon] most mighty, for thy place and sway,
[To Nestor] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life,
I give to both your speeches- which were such
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again
As venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver,
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears
To his experienc’d tongue-yet let it please both,
Thou great, and wise, to hear Vlyſſes speak.
Agam. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.
Vlyſ. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master,
But for these instances:
The specialty of rule hath been neglected;
And look how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
When that the general is not like the hive,
To whom the foragers shall all repair,
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
Th’ unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office, and custom, in all line of order;
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
In noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d
Amidst the other, whose med’cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts, like the commandment of a king,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What plagues and what portents, what mutiny,
What raging of the sea, shaking of earth,
Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate,
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d,
Which is the ladder of all high designs,
The enterprise is sick! How could communities,
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
The primogenity and due of birth,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
But by degree, stand in authentic place?
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe;
Strength should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son should strike his father dead;
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong-
Between whose endless jar justice resides-
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree it is
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d
By him one step below, he by the next,
That next by him beneath; so ever step,
Exampl’d by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation.
And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
Nestor. Most wisely hath Vlyſſes here discover’d
The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Vlyſſes,
What is the remedy?
Vlyſ. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our host,
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
Breaks scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and awkward action-
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls-
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting player whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage-
Such to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks
’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Cries ‘Excellent! ’tis Agamemnon just.
Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
As he being drest to some oration.’
That’s done-as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels, as like Vulcan and his wife;
Yet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent!
’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.’
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit
And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport
Sir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus;
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field or speech for truce,
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Nestor. And in the imitation of these twain-
Who, as Vlyſſes says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice-many are infect.
Aiax is grown self-will’d and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war
Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
To match us in comparisons with dirt,
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.
Vlyſ. They tax our policy and call it cowardice,
Count wisdom as no member of the war,
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand. The still and mental parts
That do contrive how many hands shall strike
When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies’ weight-
Why, this hath not a finger’s dignity:
They call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war;
So that the ram that batters down the wall,
For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise,
They place before his hand that made the engine,
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
Nestor. Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse
Makes many Thetis’ sons.
[Tucket]
Agam. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus.
Men. From Troy.
Enter Æneas
Agam. What would you fore our tent?
Æne. Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you?
Agam. Even this.
Æne. May one that is a herald and a prince
Do a fair message to his kingly eyes?
Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles’ an
Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.
Æne. Fair leave and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Agam. How?
Æne. Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as Morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus.
Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Agam. This Troian scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
Æne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d,
As bending angels; that’s their fame in peace.
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas,
Peace, Troian; lay thy finger on thy lips.
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth;
But what the repining enemy commends,
That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends.
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Æneas?
Æne. Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Agam. What’s your affair, I pray you?
Æne. Sir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears.
Agam. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.
Æne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him;
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Agam. Speak frankly as the wind;
It is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour.
That thou shalt know, Troian, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.
Æne. Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.
[Sound trumpet]
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince called Hector-Priam is his father-
Who in this dull and long-continued truce
Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet
And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords!
If there be one among the fair’st of Greece
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress more than in confession
With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
And dare avow her beauty and her worth
In other arms than hers-to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Troians and of Greeks,
Shall make it good or do his best to do it:
He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did couple in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Hector shall honour him;
If none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Æneas.
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We left them all at home. But we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove
That means not, hath not, or is not in love.
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
Nestor. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now;
But if there be not in our Grecian mould
One noble man that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love, tell him from me
I’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
And in my vantbrace put this wither’d brawn,
And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady
Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste
As may be in the world. His youth in flood,
I’ll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
Æne. Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!
Vlyſ. Amen.
Agam. Fair Lord Æneas, let me touch your hand;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, first.
Achilles shall have word of this intent;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.
Exeunt all but Vlyſſes and Nestor Vlyſſes. Nestor!
Nestor. What says Vlyſſes?
Vlyſ. I have a young conception in my brain;
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nestor. What is’t?
Vlyſ. This ’tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil
To overbulk us all.
Nestor. Well, and how?
Vlyſ. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nestor. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance
Whose grossness little characters sum up;
And, in the publication, make no strain
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya-though, Apollo knows,
’Tis dry enough-will with great speed of judgement,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose
Pointing on him.
Vlyſ. And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nestor. Why, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose
That can from Hector bring those honours off,
If not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat,
Yet in this trial much opinion dwells;
For here the Troians taste our dear’st repute
With their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Vlyſſes,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois’d
In this vile action; for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general;
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mas
Of things to come at large. It is suppos’d
He that meets Hector issues from our choice;
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
As ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Vlyſ. Give pardon to my speech.
Therefore ’tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares
And think perchance they’ll sell; if not, the lustre
Of the better yet to show shall show the better,
By showing the worst first. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
Nestor. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they?
Vlyſ. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should wear with him;
But he already is too insolent;
And it were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,
Why, then we do our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;
And, by device, let blockish Aiax draw
The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Aiax come safe off,
We’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes-
Aiax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
Nestor. Now, Vlyſſes, I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste thereof forthwith
To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.
Exeunt
Enter Aiax and Thersites
Aiax. Thersites!
Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally?
Aiax. Thersites!
Ther. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run then? Were not that a botchy core?
Aiax. Dog!
Ther. Then there would come some matter from him; I see none now.
Aiax. Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.
[Strikes him]
Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!
Aiax. Speak, then, thou whinid’st leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness.
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!
Aiax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
Aiax. The proclamation!
Ther. Thou art proclaim’d, a fool, I think.
Aiax. Do not, porpentine, 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 loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.
Aiax. I say, the proclamation.
Ther. Thou grumblest and railest 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.
Aiax. Mistress Thersites!
Ther. Thou shouldst strike him.
Aiax. Cobloaf!
Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
Aiax. You whoreson cur! [Strikes him]
Ther. Do, do.
Aiax. Thou stool for a witch!
Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troians, 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!
Aiax. You dog!
Ther. You scurvy lord!
Aiax. You cur! [Strikes him]
Ther. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus
Achil. Why, how now, Aiax! 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?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do. What’s the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well! why, so I do.
Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take him to be, he is Aiax.
Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Aiax. Therefore I beat thee.
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, Achilles, Aiax-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 Aiax- [Aiax offers to strike him]
Achil. Nay, good Aiax.
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.
Aiax. O thou damned cur! I shall-
Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
Ther. No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.
Patr. Good words, Thersites.
Achil. What’s the quarrel?
Aiax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
Aiax. Well, go to, go to.
Ther. I serve here voluntary.
Achil. Your last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Aiax 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 an 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 Vlyſſes and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
Achil. What, what?
Ther. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Aiax, to-
Aiax. 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 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 stirring, and leave the faction of fools. Exit
Patr. A good riddance.
Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
Will with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms
That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell.
Aiax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Achil. I know not; ’tis put to lott’ry. Otherwise. He knew his man.
Aiax. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.
Exeunt
Enter Priam, Hector, Troylus, Paris, and Hellenus
Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else-
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d
In hot digestion of this cormorant war-
Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as toucheth my particular,
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?’
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call’d
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes
Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours.
If we have lost so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor 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?
Troy. Fie, fie, my brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father’s, in a scale
Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite,
And buckle in a waist most fathomless
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? Fie, 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?
Troy. 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,
Let’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect
Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth, cost
The keeping.
Troy. What’s aught but as ’tis valued?
Hect. But value dwells not in particular will:
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-I
And the will dotes that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of th’ affected merit.
Troy. 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
Of will and judgement: how may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I chose? There can be no evasion
To blench from this and to stand firm by honour.
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
When we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks;
Your breath with full consent benied his sails;
The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,
And did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d;
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.
Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.
Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl
Whose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,
And turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.
If you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went-
As you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’-
If you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize-
As you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,
And cried ‘Inestimable!’ -why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that never fortune did-
Beggar the estimation which you priz’d
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base,
That we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!
But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n
That in their country did them that disgrace
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Caſ. [Within] Cry, Troians, cry.
Pri. What noise, what shriek is this?
Troy. ’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.
Caſ. [Within] Cry, Troians.
Hect. It is Caſſandra.
Enter Caſſandra, raving
Caſ. Cry, Troians, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
Hect. Peace, sister, peace.
Caſ. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Troians, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Troians, cry, A Helen and a woe!
Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go.
Exit
Hect. Now, youthful Troylus, do not these high strains
Of divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse, or is your blood
So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Can qualify the same?
Troy. Why, brother Hector,
We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds
Because Caſſandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
Which hath our several honours all engag’d
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain.
Par. Else might the world convince of levity
As well my undertakings as your counsels;
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension, and cut of
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms?
What propugnation is in one man’s valour
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne’er retract what he hath done
Nor faint in the pursuit.
Pri. Paris, you speak
Like one besotted on your sweet delights.
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So to be valiant is no praise at all.
Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip’d off in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack’d queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up
On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
That so degenerate a strain as this
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There’s not the meanest spirit on our party
Without a heart to dare or sword to draw
When Helen is defended; nor none so noble
Whose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d
Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say,
Well may we fight for her whom we know well
The world’s large spaces cannot parallel.
Hect. Paris and Troylus, you have both said well;
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz’d, but superficially; not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy.
The reasons you allege do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemp’red blood
Than to make up a free determination
’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves
All dues be rend’red to their owners. Now,
What nearer debt in all humanity
Than wife is to the husband? If this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection;
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benumbed wills, resist the same;
There is a law in each well-order’d nation
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king-
As it is known she is-these moral laws
Of nature and of nations speak aloud
To have her back return’d. Thus to persist
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion
Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’er the less,
My spritely brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;
For ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence
Upon our joint and several dignities.
Troy. Why, there you touch’d the life of our design.
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Troian blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown,
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And fame in time to come canonize us;
For I presume brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis’d glory
As smiles upon the forehead of this action
For the wide world’s revenue.
Hect. I am yours,
You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.
I was advertis’d their great general slept,
Whilst emulation in the army crept.
This, I presume, will wake him.
Exeunt
Enter Thersites, solus
Ther. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Aiax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he rail’d at me! ’Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little little less-than-little wit from them that they have! which short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles!
Enter Patroclus
Patr. Who’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.
Ther. If I could ’a rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn upon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?
Patr. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?
Ther. Ay, the heavens hear me!
Patr. Amen.
Enter Achilles
Achil. Who’s there?
Patr. Thersites, my lord.
Achil. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, what’s Agamemnon?
Ther. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?
Patr. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites?
Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?
Patr. Thou must tell that knowest.
Achil. O, tell, tell,
Ther. I’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool.
Patr. You rascal!
Ther. Peace, fool! I have not done.
Achil. He is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites.
Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
Achil. Derive this; come.
Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a fool positive.