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Makes Merit her Ele&ion, and doth boil
Vlyf. Give pardon to my Speech:
Neft. I see them not with my old Eyes: What are they?
Ulys. What glory our Achilles Mares from Hector,
Two Curs shall tame each other; Pride alone
A CT II. SCENE I.
Enter Ajax and Thersites.
. * . Ther. Agamemnon.--. how if he had Biles.
.--full, all over generally,
[Talking to himself. Ajax. Therfites.
Ther. And those Biles did run---- say so---- did not the General run, were not that a Botchy core?
Ther. Then there would come some matter from him: I see none now.
Ajax. Thou Bitch-Wolf's Son, canst thou not hear? Feel then.
[Strikes him. Ther. The Plague of Greece upon thee, thou Mungrel beef-witted Lord,
Ajex. Speak then, you whinid'At leaven, speak, I will beat thee into handsomnefs.
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 Jades tricks.
Ajax. Toads-stoo', learn me the Proclamation.
[thus? Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a Fool, I think. Ajax. Do not Porcupine, do not; my Fingers itch.
Ther. I would thou didit itch from Head to Foot, and I had the scratching of chee, I would make thee the loathfom'st scab in Greece.
Ajax. I say, the Proclamation,
Ther. Thou grumbleft and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's Beauty, I, that thou bark'st at him.
Ajax. Mistress Therfites.
Ther. He would pun thee into Shivers with his Fist, as a
Beating him, Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou ftool for a Witch.
Ther. Ay, do, thou sodden-witted Lord; thou hast na more Brain than I have in mine Elbows: An Apnico may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant Ass, thou art here but to thresh Trojars, and thou art bought and fold 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.
Ajax. You Dog.
(Beating him, Ther. Mars his Idiot ; do Rudeness, do Camel, do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do
this? How now, Therftes? what's the matter, Man?
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for wholoever 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 him, Achilles interposes.
Ther. As will stop the Eye of Helen's Needle, for whom he comes to fight.
Acbil. Peace, Foo!.
Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the Fool will not; he there, that he, look you there.
Ajat. O thou damn'd Cur, I shall-
wir to a Fool's ?
Ajax. I bad the vile Owl, go learn me the tenure of the Proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
Achil. Your last Service was sufferance, 'twas not voluptary, no Man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an Impress.
Ther. E'en so.--- a great a deal of your wit too lies in your Sinews, or else there be Liars: Hector 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 Ulysses, and old Nestor, whose Wit was mouldy e'er their Grandfires had Nails on their Toes, yoke you like draft Oxen, and make you plough up the wair.
Achil. What! what!
Ther. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou af. terwards.
Pat. No more Words, Therfites.
Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles Brach bids me, th all I?
Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther, Ther. I will see you fiang'd like Clotpoles, e'er I come any more to your Tents, I will keep where there is wit ftir. ring, and leave the Fadion of Fools.
[Exit. Pat. A good riddance.
Achil. Marry this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft, That Hektor, by the fifth hour of the Sun, Will with a Trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy, To Morrow morning call fome Knight to Arms, That hath a Stomach, and such a one that dare Maintain I know not what: 'Tis trash, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who shall answer him?
Achil. I know not, 'tis put to Lotery; otherwise He knew his Man.
Ajax. O, meaning you, I will go learn more of it. [Exit.
SCENE JI. Priam's Palace in Troy.
Pri. After so many hours, lives, Speeches spent,
He&t. Though no Man lesser fears the Greeks than I,