Part 34

Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; For I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, I’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er. You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never-

Aiax. Do not chafe thee, cousin; And you, Achilles, let these threats alone Till accident or purpose bring you to’t. You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.

Hect. I pray you let us see you in the field; We have had pelting wars since you refus’d The Grecians’ cause.

Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; To-night all friends.

Hect. Thy hand upon that match.

Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convive we; afterwards, As Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall Concur together, severally entreat him. Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know. Exeunt all but Troylus and Vlyſſes

Troy. My Lord Vlyſſes, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

Vlyſ. At Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troylus. There Diomed doth feast with him to-night, Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view On the fair Creſſid.

Troy. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, After we part from Agamemnon’s tent, To bring me thither?

Vlyſ. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me of what honour was This Creſſida in Troy? Had she no lover there That wails her absence?

Troy. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth; But still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth. Exeunt

Enter Achilles and Patroclus

Achil. I’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I’ll cool to-morrow. Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

Patr. Here comes Thersites.

Enter 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 wound.

Patr. Well said, Adversity! and what needs these tricks?

Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles’ male varlet.

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 in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i’ th’ palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!

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 whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.