SCENE III.--_The Camp.

_Enter_ NESTOR, _and_ ULYSSES.

_Ulys._ I have conceived an embryo in my brain: Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

_Nest._ What is't, Ulysses?

_Ulys._ The seeded pride, That has to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles, must or now be cropped, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like ill, To overtop us all.

_Nest._ That's my opinion.

_Ulys._ This challenge which Æneas brings from Hector, However it be spread in general terms, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. And will it wake him to the answer, think you?

_Nest._ It ought to do: whom can we else oppose, Who could from Hector bring his honour off, If not Achilles? the success of this, Although particular, will give an omen Of good or bad, even to the general cause.

_Ulys._ Pardon me, Nestor, if I contradict you: Therefore 'tis fit Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our coarsest wares, And think, perchance they'll sell; but, if they do not, The lustre of our better, yet unshown, Will show the better: let us not consent, Our greatest warrior should be matched with Hector; For both our honour and our shame in this Shall be attended with strange followers.

_Nest._ I see them not with my old eyes; what are they?

_Ulys._ What glory our Achilles gains from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with him: But he already is too insolent: And we had better parch in Afric sun, Than in his pride, should he 'scape Hector fair. But grant he should be foiled; Why then our common reputation suffers In that of our best man. No, make a lottery; And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw The chance to fight with Hector: among ourselves, Give him allowance as the braver man; For that will physic the great Myrmidon, Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall His crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off: If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion, That we have better men.

_Nest._ Now I begin to relish thy advice: Come, let us go to Agamemnon strait, To inform him of our project.

_Ulys._ 'Tis not ripe. The skilful surgeon will not lance a sore, Till nature has digested and prepared The growing humours to her healing purpose; Else must he often grieve the patient's sense, When one incision, once well-timed, would serve. Are not Achilles and dull Ajax friends?

_Nest._ As much as fools can be.

_Ulys._ That knot of friendship first must be untied, Ere we can reach our ends; for, while they love each other, Both hating us, will draw too strong a bias, And all the camp will lean that way they draw; For brutal courage is the soldier's idol: So, if one prove contemptuous, backed by t'other, 'Twill give the law to cool and sober sense, And place the power of war in madmen's hands.

_Nest._ Now I conceive you; were they once divided, And one of them made ours, that one would check The other's towering growth, and keep both low, As instruments, and not as lords of war. And this must be by secret coals of envy Blown in their breast; comparisons of worth; Great actions weighed of each; and each the best, As we shall give him voice.

_Ulys._ Here comes Thersites,

_Enter_ THERSITES.

Who feeds on Ajax, yet loves him not, because he cannot love; But, as a species differing from mankind, Hates all he sees, and rails at all he knows; But hates them most from whom he most receives, Disdaining that his lot should be so low, That he should want the kindness which he takes.

_Nest._ There's none so fit an engine:--Save ye, Thersites.

_Ulys._ Hail, noble Grecian! thou relief of toils, Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war, In whose converse our winter nights are short, And summer days not tedious.

_Thers._ Hang you both.

_Nest._ How, hang us both!

_Thers._ But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool! Thou sapless oak, that liv'st by wanting thought, And now, in thy three hundredth year, repin'st Thou shouldst be felled: hanging's a civil death, The death of men; thou canst not hang; thy trunk Is only fit for gallows to hang others.

_Nest._ A fine greeting.

_Thers._ A fine old dotard, to repine at hanging At such an age! what saw the Gods in thee, That a cock-sparrow should but live three years, And thou shouldst last three ages? he's thy better; He uses life; he treads himself to death. Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years. Thou stump of man, thou worn-out broom, thou lumber!

_Nest._ I'll hear no more of him, his poison works; What, curse me for my age!

_Ulys._ Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custom: What malice is there in a mirthful scene? 'Tis but a keen-edged sword, spread o'er with balm, To heal the wound it makes.

_Thers._ Thou beg'st a curse? May'st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor, Who hangs on thee! thou lead'st him by the nose; Thou play'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him; And when thou hast contrived some dark design, To lose a thousand Greeks, make dogs-meat of us, Thou lay'st thy cuckoo's egg within his nest, And mak'st him hatch it; teachest his remembrance To lie, and say, the like of it was practised Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain, And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots.

_Nest._ I'm no man's fool.

_Thers._ Then be thy own, that's worse.

_Nest._ He'll rail all day.

_Ulys._ Then we shall learn all day. Who forms the body to a graceful carriage, Must imitate our aukward motions first; The same prescription does the wise Thersites Apply, to mend our minds. The same he uses To Ajax, to Achilles, to the rest; His satires are the physic of the camp.

_Thers._ Would they were poison to't, ratsbane and hemlock! Nothing else can mend you, and those two brawny fools.

_Ulys._ He hits 'em right; Are they not such, my Nestor?

_Thers._ Dolt-heads, asses, And beasts of burden; Ajax and Achilles! The pillars, no, the porters of the war. Hard-headed rogues! engines, mere wooden engines Pushed on to do your work.

_Nest._ They are indeed.

_Thers._ But what a rogue art thou, To say they are indeed! Heaven made them horses, And thou put'st on their harness, rid'st and spurr'st them; Usurp'st upon heaven's fools, and mak'st them thine.

_Nest._ No; they are headstrong fools, to be corrected By none but by Thersites; thou alone Canst tame and train them to their proper use; And, doing this, may'st claim a just reward From Greece and royal Agamemnon's hands.

_Thers._ Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving, For wit's a dear commodity among you; But when you do not want him, then stale porridge, A starved dog would not lap, and furrow water, Is all the wine we taste: give drabs and pimps; I'll have no gifts with hooks at end of them.

_Ulys._ Is this a man, O Nestor, to be bought? Asia's not price enough! bid the world for him. And shall this man, this Hermes, this Apollo, Sit lag of Ajax' table, almost minstrel, And with his presence grace a brainless feast? Why they con sense from him, grow wits by rote, And yet, by ill repeating, libel him, Making his wit their nonsense: nay, they scorn him; Call him bought railer, mercenary tongue! Play him for sport at meals, and kick him off.

_Thers._ Yes, they can kick; my buttocks feel they can; They have their asses tricks; but I'll eat pebbles, I'll starve,--'tis brave to starve, 'tis like a soldier,-- Before I'll feed those wit-starved rogues with sense. They shall eat dry, and choak for want of wit, Ere they be moistened with one drop of mine. Ajax and Achilles! two mud-walls of fool, That only differ in degrees of thickness.

_Ulys._ I'd be revenged of both. When wine fumes high, Set them to prate, to boast their brutal strength, To vie their stupid courage, till they quarrel, And play at hard head with their empty skulls.

_Thers._ Yes; they shall butt and kick, and all the while I'll think they kick for me; they shall fell timber On both sides, and then logwood will be cheap.

_Nest._ And Agamemnon--

_Thers._ Pox of Agamemnon! Cannot I do a mischief for myself, But he must thank me for't?

_Ulys._ to _Nest._ Away; our work is done. [_Exeunt_ ULYS. _and_ NEST.

_Thers._ This Agamemnon is a king of clouts, A chip in porridge,--

_Enter_ AJAX.

_Ajax._ Thersites.

_Thers._ Set up to frighten daws from cherry-trees,--

_Ajax._ Dog!

_Thers._ A standard to march under.

_Ajax._ Thou bitch-wolf! can'st thou not hear? feel then. [_Strikes him._

_Thers._ The plague of Greece, and Helen's pox light on thee, Thou mongrel mastiff, thou beef-witted lord!

_Ajax._ Speak then, thou mouldy leaven of the camp; Speak, or I'll beat thee into handsomeness.

_Thers._ I shall sooner rail thee into wit; thou canst kick, canst thou? A red murrain on thy jades tricks!

_Ajax._ Tell me the proclamation.

_Thers._ Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.

_Ajax._ You whorson cur, take that. [_Strikes him._

_Thers._ Thou scurvy valiant ass!

_Ajax._ Thou slave!

_Thers._ Thou lord!--Ay, do, do,--would my buttocks were iron, for thy sake!

_Enter_ ACHILLES _and_ PATROCLUS.

_Achil._ Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you this? How now, Thersites, what's the matter, man?

_Thers._ I say this Ajax wears his wit in's belly, and his guts in's brains.

_Achil._ Peace, fool.

_Thers._ I would have peace, but the fool will not.

_Patro._ But what's the quarrel?

_Ajax._ I bade him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

_Thers._ I serve thee not.

_Ajax._ I shall cut out your tongue.

_Thers._ 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much sense as thou afterwards. I'll see you hanged ere I come any more to your tent; I'll keep where there's wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [_Going._

_Achil._ Nay, thou shalt not go, Thersites, till we have squeezed the venom out of thee: pr'ythee, inform us of this proclamation.

_Thers._ Why, you empty fuz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else but proclamations.

_Ajax._ Tell us the news, I say.

_Thers._ You say! why you never said any thing in all your life. But, since you will know, it is proclaimed through the army, that Hector is to cudgel you to-morrow.

_Achil._ How, cudgel him, Thersites!

_Thers._ Nay, you may take a child's part on't if you have so much courage, for Hector has challenged the toughest of the Greeks; and it is in dispute which of your two heads is the soundest timber. A knotty piece of work he'll have betwixt your noddles.

_Achil._ If Hector be to fight with any Greek, He knows his man.

_Ajax._ Yes; he may know his man without art magic.

_Thers._ So he had need; for, to my certain knowledge, neither of you two are conjurers to inform him.

_Achil._ to _Ajax._ You do not mean yourself, sure?

_Ajax._ I mean nothing.

_Thers._ Thou mean'st so always.

_Achil._ Umh! mean nothing!

_Thers._ [_Aside._] Jove, if it be thy will, let these two fools quarrel about nothing! 'tis a cause that's worthy of them.

_Ajax._ You said he knew his man; is there but one? One man amongst the Greeks?

_Achil._ Since you will have it, But one to fight with Hector.

_Ajax._ Then I am he.

_Achil._ Weak Ajax!

_Ajax._ Weak Achilles.

_Thers._ Weak indeed; God help you both!

_Patro._ Come, this must be no quarrel.

_Thers._ There's no cause for't

_Patro._ He tells you true, you are both equal.

_Thers._ Fools.

_Achil._ I can brook no comparisons.

_Ajax._ Nor I.

_Achil._ Well, Ajax.

_Ajax._ Well, Achilles.

_Thers._ So, now they quarrel in monosyllables; a word and a blow, an't be thy will.

_Achil._ You may hear more.

_Ajax._ I would.

_Achil._ Expect.

_Ajax._ Farewell. [_Exeunt severally._

_Thers._ Curse on them, they want wine; your true fool will never fight without it. Or a drab, a drab; Oh for a commodious drab betwixt them! would Helen had been here! then it had come to something. Dogs, lions, bulls, for females tear and gore; And the beast, man, is valiant for his whore. [_Exit_ THERSITES.