Part 14

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.

Patr. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Come, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites. Exit

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject, and war and lechery confound all! Exit

Enter Agamemnon, Vlyſſes, Nestor, Diomedes, Aiax, and Chalcas

Agam. Where is Achilles?

Patr. Within his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord.

Agam. Let it be known to him that we are here. He shent our messengers; and we lay by Our appertainings, visiting of him. Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think We dare not move the question of our place Or know not what we are.

Patr. I shall say so to him. Exit

Vlyſ. We saw him at the opening of his tent. He is not sick.

Aiax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my lord. [Takes Agamemnon aside]

Nestor. What moves Aiax thus to bay at him?