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use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou !
Ajax. You dog!
[Beating him. Ther, Mars his ideor! do, rudeness ; do, camel, do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do
you this? How now, Tbersites? what's the matter, man?
Tber. You see him there, do you?
Ther. But yet you look not well upon hims for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil, I know that, fool.
Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters; his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord ( Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of him. Achil. What?
[Ajax offers to strike bim, Achilles interposes. Ther. I say, this AjaxAchil. Nay, good' Ajax. Ther. Has not so much witAchil. Nay, I must hold you.
Tber. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.
Acbil, Peace, fool ! Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there, that he, look Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall
Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
Ther. Evin so a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Heftor shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains ; he were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?
Ther. There's Ulyses and old Neftor, (whose wit was mouldy ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes,) (17) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the wair.
Achil. What! what!
Tber. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.
Pat. No more words, Therfites.
Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I?
Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. : Ther. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
(17) There's Ulysses, and old Neftor, whose Wit was mouldly ere their Grandfires bad Nails on their toes,] This is one of these Editors wise Riddles. This is no Folly of Therfites's venting. What! Was Neftor's Wit mouldy, before his Grandfire's Toes had any Nails ? that is, was the Grandson an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing-cloaths ? Preposterous Nonsense ! and yet so easy a Change, as one poor Derivative Pronoun for another, fets all right and clear.
Pat. A good riddance.
Ajax. Farewel! who shall answer him?
Achil. I know not, ’tis put to lott’ry; otherwise
SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy:
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus. Pri. Fter so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: Deliver Helen, and all damage else (As honour, loss of time, travel, expence, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd In hot digestion of this cormorant war) Shall be struck off. Hector, what say you to't?
Hect. Though no man lesfer fears the Greeks than I, As far as touches my particular, yet There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spungy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out, who knows what follows ? Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety, (18) Surety secure ; but modest Doubt is callid
(18) The Wound of Peace is furety ;] i.e. the great Danger of Peace is too much Security, the Opinion of our being least in Danger. Therefore, as our Author says in his Hamlet ;
wary best Safety lies in Fear. Velleius Paterculus, speaking of Arminius's Treachery, has left us a Sentiment, that might very well have given Rise to our Author's. Haud imprudenter fpeculatus, neminem celeriùs opprimi, quàm qui nihil timeret ; & frequentissimum Initium effe Calamitatis Securitatem.
The beacon of the wise; the tent that searches
Troi. Fie, fie, my brother :
Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
Troi. You are for dreams and numbers, brother Priest,
Heil. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
Troi. What is aught, but as 'cis valu’d?
Hea. But Value dwells not in particular will;
whose Youth and Freshness
To fall I do
The gliftring of this present. This old Aunt, who is only hinted at by our Poet, is Hefione, the Daughter of Laomedon and Silter of Priam. She was borne away Captive to Greece by Hercules, when he fack'd Troy; and was given to Telamon's Bed, by whom the bore Teucer. --Spenser mentions her subduing Telamon to her Charms, in his Version of VIR GIL's Gnat.
For th' one was ravish'd of his own Bond-maid,
The fair Ixionè, captiv'd from Troy. For here we muft read, Hefione. The Particulars of her Story are to be found in Hyginus's 89th Fable.