In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Ulyff. Give pardon to my Speech;
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, shew our fouleft wares,
And think, perchance, they'll fell; if not,
The luftre of the better, yet to fhew,

Shall shew the better. Do not then consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:

For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Neft. I fee them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulyff. What Glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too infolent;
And we were better parch in Africk Sun,
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a Lott'ry;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw
The Sort to fight with Hector: 'mong our selves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applaufe, and make him fall
His Creft, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still,
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assunies,
Ajax, imploy'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Neft. Ulyffes, now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him ftreight;
Two curs shall tame each other; pride alone

Muft tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. [Exeunt.

ACT

T

ACT II.

SCENE, the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Thersites.

AJAX.

HERSITES,

Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boilesfull, all over, generally. (Talking to himjelf. Ajax. Thersites,

Ther. And those boiles did run-fay fodid not the General run? were not that a botchy core? Ajax. Dog!

Ther. Then there would come some matter from him: I fee none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, canft thou not hear? feel then. [Strikes him.

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel beef-witted lord!

Ajax. Speak then, you unwinnow'd'st (16) leaven, speak; I will beat thee into handsomness.

VOL. VII.

C

Ther.

(16) Speak then, you unsalted Leaven, speak ;) This is a Reading obtruded upon us by Mr. Pope, that has no Authority or Countenance from any of the Copies; nor that approaches in any Degree to the Traces of the old Reading, you whinid'st Leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible; but the Emendation, which I have coin'd out of it, gives us a Sense apt and confonant to what Ajax would fay." Thou Lump " of fow'r Dough, kneaded up out of a Flower unpurg'd and unfifted, " with all the Dross and Bran in it." - Kent, in Lear, uses the same metaphorical Reproach to the cowardly Steward;

I will tread this unboulted Villain into Mortar.

i. e. This Villain of so gross a Composition, that he was not fified thro

1

the

Ther. I shall fooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but, I think, thy horse will fooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book: thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Doest thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st me thus?

Ajax. The proclamation

Ther. Thou art proclaim'd 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 loathsom'st scab in Greece.

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 Proferpina's Beauty: I, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites!
Ther. Thou shouldst strike him.

Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pound thee into shivers with his fist,

as a failor breaks a bisket.

Ajax. You whorson cur!

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch!

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord; thou haft no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Affinego may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou

the boulting-Cloth, before he was work'd up into Leaven. So Pandarus says to Troilus in the first Scene of this Play.

Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leavening.

I cannot without Injustice pass over another Conjecture, propos'd by my ingenious Friend Mr. Warburton; you windieft Leaven. An Epithet, as he says, not only admirably adapted to the Nature of Leaven, which is made only by Fermentation, but likewise most justly applied to the loquacious Therfites. And, indeed, in several Counties of England, an idle Prater is call'd, a windy Fellow.

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!

Ther. You scurvy lord!

Ajax. You cur!

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

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

How now, Therfites? 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 fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for whoso

ever 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 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 fay of him.

Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.

Ther. I say, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not so much wit

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom

he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool

will not: he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall

C2

Achil.

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Pat. Good words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

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. Ev'n fo-a great deal of your wit too lies in your finews, 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 Ulyffes 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!

Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! toAjax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. '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 fee 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. [Exit.

(17) There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, whose Wit was mouldly ere their Grandfires had Nails on their toes,] This is one of these Editors wife Riddles. This is no Folly of Therfites's venting. What! Was Nestor's Wit mouldy, before his Grandfire's Toes had any Nails? that is, was the Grandion 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.