Original
Modern English
Thersites!
Thersites!
Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all over, generally?
Agamemnon, what if he had boils? Everywhere, all over, generally?
Thersites!
Thersites!
And those boils did run? say so: did not the general run then? were not that a botchy core?
And what if those boils burst? Say that: didn’t the general run away then? Wasn’t that a nasty mess?
Dog!
You dog!
Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.
Then something important would come from him; I don’t see anything now.
Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear?
You son of a bitch-wolf, can’t you hear?
Feel, then.
Feel this then.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!
May the plague of Greece strike you, you mutt with a beef-brained lord!
Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness.
Speak, then, you sour, useless fool, speak: I’ll beat some sense into you.
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!
I’ll be more likely to insult you into wisdom and decency: but, I think, your horse will learn a speech quicker than you’ll ever memorize a prayer. You can hit, can you? I hope your horse catches a disease for all its tricks!
Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
Toadstool, teach me the announcement.
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
Do you think I’m an idiot just because you hit me like that?
The proclamation!
The announcement!
Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
I think they’ve called you a fool.
Do not, porpentine, do not: my fingers itch.
Don’t, you porcupine, don’t: my fingers are itching to hit you.
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.
I wish you’d itch all over and I could scratch you; I’d make you the grossest scab in Greece. When you’re out on the battlefield, you swing your fists as slowly as anyone else.
I say, the proclamation!
I said, the proclamation!
Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpine’s beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him.
You complain and curse about Achilles all the time, and you’re as jealous of his greatness as Cerberus is of Proserpine’s beauty, yeah, you bark at him.
Mistress Thersites!
Mistress Thersites!
Thou shouldest strike him.
You should strike him.
Cobloaf!
You cobbled-up loaf!
He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
He’d smash you to bits with his fist, like a sailor breaks a biscuit.
[Beating him] You whoreson cur!
[Beating him] You son of a bitch!
Do, do.
Go ahead, do it.
Thou stool for a witch!
You’re a stool for a witch!
Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold 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!
Yeah, go on, do it; you thick-headed lord! You have no more brains than I have in my elbows; a donkey could teach you something: you cowardly, brave fool! You’re only here to beat Trojans; you’re treated like a barbarian slave among people with any sense. If you try to hit me, I’ll start with your heel and show everyone exactly what you are, inch by inch, you heartless thing, you!
You dog!
You dog!
You scurvy lord!
You filthy bastard!
[Beating him] You cur!
[Beating him] You dog!
Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
Mars’s fool! go on, you idiot; go on, you camel; just go on.
Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you thus? How now, Thersites! what’s the matter, man?
What’s going on, Ajax? Why are you doing this? What’s wrong, Thersites?
You see him there, do you?
Do you see him there?
Ay; what’s the matter?
Yes, what’s the matter?
Nay, look upon him.
No, look at him properly.
So I do: what’s the matter?
I am looking at him; what’s the matter?
Nay, but regard him well.
No, pay attention to him.
’Well!’ why, I do so.
"Pay attention?" I am paying attention.
But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
But you’re still not really looking at him; whoever you think he is, he’s Ajax.
I know that, fool.
I know that, you idiot.
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Yeah, but that idiot doesn’t know who he is.
Therefore I beat thee.
That’s why I’m beating you.
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 nineth 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.
Look, look, look, look at the little bit of sense he speaks! His excuses have ears this long. I’ve knocked his brain more than he’s beaten my body. I could buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his brain isn’t worth even the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, who puts his brains in his stomach and his guts in his head—let me tell you what I think of him.
What?
What?
I say, this Ajax--
I’m telling you, this Ajax--
Nay, good Ajax.
No, stop, Ajax.
Has not so much wit--
He’s not smart enough--
Nay, I must hold you.
No, I have to hold you back.
As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.
As useless as stopping the eye of Helen’s needle, for the woman he’s here to fight over.
Peace, fool!
Quiet, you idiot!
I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there: that he: look you there.
I want peace and calm, but the idiot won’t let it happen: he’s over there: that’s him: look over there.
O thou damned cur! I shall--
You damned dog! I’ll--
Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
Are you really going to try to match wits with a fool?
No, I warrant you; for a fools will shame it.
No, I’m sure of it; a fool’s wit will just make you look bad.
Good words, Thersites.
Calm down, Thersites.
What’s the quarrel?
What’s going on?
I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
I told that worthless idiot to go find out the details of the proclamation, and now he’s insulting me.
I serve thee not.
I’m not serving you.
Well, go to, go to.
Fine, whatever.
I serve here voluntarily.
I’m here by choice.
Your last service was sufferance, ’twas not voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
Your last job was suffering, not really by choice: no one gets beaten by choice. Ajax was here by choice, and you were forced into it.
E’en so; a great deal of your wit, too, lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
Well, sure; a lot of your smart talk is probably in your muscles, or else there are liars. Hector’s got a big chance if he knocks your brains out; he’d be better off cracking a stale nut with no nuts inside.
What, with me too, Thersites?
What, me too, Thersites?
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.
Yes, really: Ulysses and old Nestor, whose cleverness was old before your grandfathers even had nails on their toes, could put you to work like oxen and make you fight the wars.
What, what?
What? What are you saying?
Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!
Yes, truly: to you, Achilles! to you, Ajax! go on!
I shall cut out your tongue.
I’ll cut your tongue out.
’Tis no matter! I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.
It doesn’t matter! I’ll talk just as much as you later.
No more words, Thersites; peace!
Enough talking, Thersites; quiet!
I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?
I’ll shut up when Achilles’ dog tells me to, right?
There’s for you, Patroclus.
That’s for you, Patroclus.
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.
I’d rather see you hanged like fools than come back to your tents. I’ll go where there’s some real wit and leave the crowd of idiots.
A good riddance.
Good riddance.
Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host: That Hector, by the fifth 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: ’tis trash. Farewell.
Well, this, sir, is announced to everyone in our army: That Hector, by the fifth hour of the day, Will, with a trumpet, between our tents and Troy, Call some knight to battle tomorrow morning Who has the courage; and someone who dares To fight—I don’t know for what: it’s nonsense. Goodbye.
Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Goodbye. Who will answer him?
I know not: ’tis put to lottery; otherwise He knew his man.
I don’t know: it’s decided by chance; otherwise, He would know who he was challenging.
O, meaning you. I will go learn more of it.
Oh, I see what you mean. I’ll go find out more about it.