THER. He would pun thee into shivers with his

fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

AJAX. You whoreson cur!

THER. Do, do! c

[Beating him.

AJAX. 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 assinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvyvaliant 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. 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. Even 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 † grandsires had nails on their toes,-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.‡

ACHIL. What, what?

PATR. No more words, Thersites; peace!* THER. I will hold my peace when Achilles' bracht 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. [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. Fare-
well.

SCENE II.-Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.

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 con-
sum'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 the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,b
Hath been as dear as Helen,-I mean, of ours:

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?
TROIL. You are for dreams and slumbers,
brother priest;
Here are your

You fur your gloves with reason.

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,d
Or like a star dis-orb'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 holding.

TROIL. 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;
And the will dotes, that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.

TROIL. 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

once.

(*) First folio, hard.

(+) First folio, made.
(1) First folio, inclineable.
See note (e), p. 144, Vol. II.

d And fly like chidden Mercury, &c.] This and the following line are transposed in the folio.

Of will and judgment: 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 of full consent bellied 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 noble 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 fortune never 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. [Without.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

PRI.
What noise? what shriek is this?
TROIL. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.
CAS. [Without.] Cry, Trojans !

HECT. It is Cassandra.

bmakes stale the morning.] The quarto reads,-"makes pale the morning," &c.