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ACT II.

SCENE I.—Another part of the Grecian Camp.

Enter AJAX and THERSITES.

Ajax. Thersites,

Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils? full, all over, generally?

Ajax. Thersites,—

Ther. And those boils did run? Say so,-did not the general run then? were not that a botchy core?

Ajax. Dog!

Ther. Then 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 mongrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven! speak: I'll 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!

Ajax. Toadstool! learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

Ajax. The proclamation,

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine! 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.

Ajax. 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.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!

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Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax, wherefore do
you thus?

How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Achil. Ay; what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do; what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 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

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Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ?

Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.

Achil. What, what?

Ther. Yes, good sooth:-to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards.

Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Patr. A good riddance,

[Exit.

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host;

That Hector, by the first hour of the sun,
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms,
That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare
Maintain-I know not what; 't is trash. Farewell.

Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him? Achil. I know not; it is put to lottery; otherwise He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you:-I'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Troy. A Room in PRIAM's Palace. Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.

Pri. After 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, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed

In hot digestion of this cormorant war-
Shall be struck off:" Hector, what say you to 't?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks

than I,

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You know, an enemy intends
you harm ;
You know, a sword employed is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm :
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorbed?-Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and
honour

Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts

With this crammed reason: reason and respect Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding.

Tro. What is aught, but as 't is valued? Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; It holds its estimate and dignity

As well wherein 't is precious of itself

As in the prizer: 't is mad idolatry

To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes
and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment: How may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I chose? there can be no evasion

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Whose price hath launched above a thousand ships,

And turned crowned kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch 't was wisdom Paris went
(As you must needs, for you all cried-"Go, go"),
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize
(As you must needs, for you all clapped your hands
And cried "Inestimable!"), why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate;
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar the estimation which you prized
Richer than sea and land? O, theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!

But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen,
That in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Cas. [within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noise? what shriek is this?
Tro. "Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.
Cas. [within.] Cry, Trojans!
Hect. It is Cassandra.

Enter CASSANDRA, raving.

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand

eyes,

And I will fill them with prophetic tears!

Hect. Peace, sister, peace.

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled
elders,

Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a woe:
Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.
Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high

strains

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We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Cassandra's mad: her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
Which hath our several honours all engaged
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touched than all Priam's sons:
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain!

Par. Else might the world convince of levity
As well my undertakings, as your counsels :
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms?
What propugnation is in one man's valour,
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the pursuit.

Paris, you speak

Pri.
Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So to be valiant is no praise at all.

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wiped off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransacked queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up
On terms of base compulsion? Can it be,
That so degenerate a strain as this

Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?

There's not the meanest spirit on our party, Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, When Helen is defended; nor none so noble, Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfamed, Where Helen is the subject: then, I say,

Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Hect. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; And on the cause and question now in hand Have glozed—but superficially; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy:

The reasons you allege do more conduce
To the hot passion of distempered blood,
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves,
All dues be rendered to their owners: now,
What nearer debt in all humanity,
Than wife is to the husband? If this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection;
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benumbéd wills, resist the same;
There is a law in each well-ordered nation,
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king
(As it is known she is), these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To have her back returned: thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth: yet ne'ertheless,
My sprightly brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;
For 't is a cause that hath no mean dependence
Upon our joint and several dignities.

Tro. Why, there you touched the life of our
design:

Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And fame, in time to come, canónise us:
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promised glory
As smiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revénue.

Hect.
I am yours,
You valiant offspring of great Priamus.—
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:

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