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Ajax. Dog!

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

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's fon, canst 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'ft (16) leaven, fpeak; I will beat thee into handfomeness.

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

Ajax. Toads-tool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Doft thou think I have no fenfe, thou Arikeft me thus ?

(16) Speak then, you unfalted leaven, fpeak;] 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 whinide leaven. This, 'tis true, is corrupted and unintelligible; but the emendation which I have coined out of it, gives us a fenfe apt and confonant to what Ajax would fay. Thou lump of four dough, kneaded-up out of flour unpurged and unfifted, with all the drofs and bran in it." -Kent, in Lear, ufes the fame metaphorical reproach to the cowardly fteward;

I will tread this unboulted villain to mortar

i. e. This villain of fo grofs a compofition, that he was not fifted through the boulting-cloth, before he was worked up into leaven. So Pandarus fays to Troilus in the first scene

of this play;

Ay, the boultig, but you must tarry the leavening. I cannot without injuftice pafs over another conjecture, propofed by my ingenious friend Mr Warburton;-you windieft leaven. An epithet, as he fays, not only admirably adapted to the nature of kaven, which is made only by feemientation, but likewife muft juftly applied to the loquacious Therfites. And, indeed, in several counties of England, an idle prater is called a windy fellow,

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 fcratching of thee; I would make thee the loathfomeft fcab in Greece.

Ajax. I fay, the proclamation

Ther. Thou grumbleft and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his great nefs, as Cerberus is at Proferpina's beauty: ay, that thou bark'it at him.

Ajax. Miftrefs Therfites !-----

Ther. Thou fhouldft ftrike him.
Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pound thee into fhivers with his fift, as a failor breaks a biket.

Ajax. You whorefon cur!

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou ftool for a witch !--

[Beating him.

Ther. Ay, do, do, thou fodden-witted Lord; thou haft no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Affinego may tutor thee. Thou fcurvy valiant afs! thou art here but to thrafh Trojans, and thou art bought and fold among thofe of any wit, like a Barbarian flave. If thou ufe 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 fcurvy Lord!

jax. You cur!

[Beating him.

Ther. Mars his ideot! do, rudenefs; 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 fee 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 whofoever 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 evafions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine fparrows 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.

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Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to frike him, Achilles interpofes. Ther. I fay, this Ajax---

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit--

Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will ftop 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 damned cur, I fhall--

it.

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will fhame

Pat. Good words. Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bade 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 fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you was under an impress.

Ther. Even fo-a great deal of your wit too lyes in your finews, or elfe there be liars. Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as good crack a fufty 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 war.

Achil. What! what!

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

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

Pat. No more words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will fee you hanged like, clotpoles, ere I

(17) There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, whose wit was mouldy ere their grandfires had nails on their toes,] This is one of thefe editors wife 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 grandfon an old man, before the grandfather was out of his fwathingcloaths? Prepofterous nonfenfe! and yet fo eafy a change, as one poor derivative pronoun for another, fets all right

and clear.

come any more to your tents. I will keep where. there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit:

Pat. A good riddance.

Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaimed through
all our hoft,

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the fun,
Will, with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow-morning call fome knight to arms,
That hath a stomach, fuch a one that dare
Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who shall anfwer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lottery; otherwife He knew his man.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy..

Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HE

LENUS.

Pri. After fo many hours, lives, fpeeches spent, Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks: Deliver Helen, and all damage else

(As honour, lofs of time, travel, expence,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is confumed

In hot digeftion of this cormorant war)

Shall be ftruck off. Hector, what fay you to't?
Het. Though no man leifer fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular, yet

There is no lady of more fofter bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fenfe of fear,

More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is Surety, (18);

(18) The wound of peace is furety,] i. e. The great danger of

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