Part 10

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!