Act V. Scene
Act V. Scene I.The Grecian Camp. Before
Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.
Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
Patr. Here comes Thersites.
Achil. How now, thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou
seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's
a letter for thee.
Achil. From whence, fragment?
Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Patr. Who keeps the tent now?
Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's
Patr. Well said, adversity! and what need
Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy: I profit not
by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles'
Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?
Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the
rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping,
ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back,
lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten
livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of impos-
thume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' the palm, incurable
bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the
tetter, take and take again such preposterous
Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy,
thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?
Ther. Do I curse thee?
Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whore-
son indistinguishable cur, no.
Ther. No! why art thou then exasperate,
thou idle immaterial skein of sleave silk, thou
green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of
a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah! how the poor
world is pestered with such water-flies, diminu-
tives of nature.
Patr. Out, gall!
Ther. Finch egg!
Achil. My sweet-Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it:
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
[Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.
Ther. With too much blood and too little
brain, these two may run mad; but if with too
much brain, and too little blood they do, I'll be
a curer of madmen. here's Agamemnon, an
honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails,
but he has not so much brain as ear-wax: and
the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his
brother, the bull, the primitive statue, and
oblique memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty shoe-
ing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg,
to what form but that he is should wit larded
with malice and malice forced with wit turn
him to? To an ass, were nothing: he is both
ass and ox; to an ox, were nothing: he is both
ax and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew,
a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring
without a roe, I would not care; but to be
Menelaus! I would conspire against destiny.
Ask me not what I would be, if I were not
Thersites, for I care not to be the louse of a
lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! spirits
Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX,
AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR,
MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights.
Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong.
Ajax. No, yonder 'tis;
There, where we see the lights.
Hect. I trouble you.
Ajax. No, not a whit.
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you.
Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome,
Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
Hect. Thanks and good-night to the Greeks'
Men. Good-night, my lord.
Hect. Good-flight, sweet Lord Menelaus.
Ther. Sweet draught: 'sweet,' quoth a'! sweet
sink, sweet sewer.
Achil. Good-night and welcome both at once,
That go or tarry.
[Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS.
Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.
Dio. I cannot, lord; I have important busi-
The tide whereof is now. Good-night, great
Hect. Give me your hand.
Ulyss. [Aside to TROILUS.] Follow his torch;
he goes to Calchas' tent.
I'll keep you company.
Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me.
Hect. And so, good-night.
[Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and
Achil. Come, come, enter my tent.
[Exeunt ACHILLES, HECTOR, AJAX,
Ther, That same Diomed's a false-hearted
rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more trust
him when he leers than I will a serpent when
he hisses. He will spend his mouth, and pro-
mise, like Brabbler the hound; but when he
performs, astronomers foretell it: it is pro-
digious, there will come some change: the sun
borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his
word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than
not to dog him: they say he keeps a Trojan
drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll
after. Nothing but lechery! all incontinent