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How now, Thersites! what lost in the labyrinth of thy fury! Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him: O, worthy satisfaction! would it were otherwise; that I could beat him, whilst he railed at me. ’Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a rare enginer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little, little less than little wit from them that they have! which short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing their massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or rather, the bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers and devil Envy say Amen. What ho! my Lord Achilles!
What’s going on, Thersites! Lost in the maze of your own anger! Is Ajax the elephant really going to win this? He beats me, and I shout back at him: Oh, how satisfying! I wish it were different; I wish I could beat him, while he’s shouting at me. Damn it, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll make something come from my spiteful curses. Then there’s Achilles, a real genius! If Troy isn’t taken by the time these two bring it down, the walls will stand until they collapse of their own weight. Oh, great thunder-thrower of Olympus, forget that you’re Jove, king of the gods, and Mercury, lose all the clever tricks of your staff, if you don’t take away just a little bit of the tiny bit of wit they have! which even ignorant fools know is so rare it can’t even catch a fly from a spider without pulling out heavy swords and cutting the web. After this, revenge on the whole camp! Or maybe just a bad back ache! Because, I think, that’s the curse for those who fight for a pretty face. I’ve said my prayers, and devil Envy says Amen. What’s up! My Lord Achilles!
Who’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.
Who’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and shout at me.
If I could have remembered a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out of my contemplation: but it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death! then if she that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn upon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?
If I had remembered a fake gold coin, you wouldn’t have slipped from my mind: but it doesn’t matter; it’s just you being you! The universal curse of mankind, stupidity and ignorance, be yours in great abundance! May heaven protect you from a teacher, and may discipline never come near you! Let your blood be your guide until you die! Then, if the person who buries you says you’re a beautiful corpse, I’ll swear she’s only ever buried beggars. Amen. Where’s Achilles?
What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?
What, are you praying? Were you in the middle of a prayer?
Ay: the heavens hear me!
Yes: the heavens hear me!
Who’s there?
Who’s there?
Thersites, my lord.
Thersites, my lord.
Where, where? Art thou come? why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, what’s Agamemnon?
Where, where? Are you here? Why, my dear, my digestion, why haven’t you served yourself all those meals at my table? Come on, what’s Agamemnon up to?
Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles?
Your commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, who is Achilles?
Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray thee, what’s thyself?
Your lord, Thersites: then tell me, please, who are you?
Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?
Your knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus, what are you?
Thou mayst tell that knowest.
You can tell, since you know.
O, tell, tell.
Oh, tell, tell.
I’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower, and Patroclus is a fool.
I’ll skip the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower, and Patroclus is a fool.
You rascal!
You scoundrel!
Peace, fool! I have not done.
Quiet, fool! I’m not finished.
He is a privileged man. Proceed, Thersites.
He has the right to speak. Go on, Thersites.
Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool, and, as I said before, Patroclus is a fool.
Derive this; come.
Explain this; go on.
Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive.
Agamemnon is a fool to try to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to let Agamemnon command him; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a complete fool.
Why am I a fool?
Why am I a fool?
Make that demand of the prover. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes here?
Ask the one who can prove it. It’s enough for me that you are. Look, who is coming here?
Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites.
Patroclus, I don’t want to speak to anyone. Come with me, Thersites.
Here is such patchery, such juggling and such knavery! all the argument is a cuckold and a whore; a good quarrel to draw emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now, the dry serpigo on the subject! and war and lechery confound all!
This is such trickery, such cheating and such dishonesty! The whole issue is about a cuckold and a prostitute; a good reason to start rival factions and kill each other over. Now, the disease on the subject! and war and lust ruin everything!
Where is Achilles?
Where is Achilles?
Within his tent; but ill disposed, my lord.
He’s in his tent; but not feeling well, my lord.
Let it be known to him that we are here. He shent our messengers; and we lay by Our appertainments, visiting of him: Let him be told so; lest perchance he think We dare not move the question of our place, Or know not what we are.
Let him know we’re here. He insulted our messengers; and we’ve put aside Our business to visit him: Let him be told that, in case he thinks We’re afraid to question his position, Or don’t know who we are.
I shall say so to him.
I’ll tell him that.
We saw him at the opening of his tent: He is not sick.
We saw him at the entrance of his tent: He’s not sick.
Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride: but why, why? let him show us the cause. A word, my lord.
Yes, he’s lion-sick, sick with pride: you might call it sadness, if you want to be kind to him; but, by my word, it’s pride: but why, why? Let him explain the reason. A word, my lord.
What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
What makes Ajax act like this toward him?
Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
Achilles has taken away his fool from him.
Who, Thersites?
Who, Thersites?
He.
Yes.
Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.
Then Ajax will have no reason to argue, if he’s lost his fool.
No, you see, he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles.
No, you see, he is his own argument, the one who has his own argument, Achilles.
All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction: but it was a strong composure a fool could disunite.
All the better; their division is more what we want than their group: but it was a strong unity that even a fool could break apart.
The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus.
The friendship that wisdom builds, folly can easily destroy. Here comes Patroclus.
No Achilles with him.
No Achilles with him.
The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.
The elephant has joints, but none for politeness: his legs are only for getting around, not for bending.
Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry, If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness and this noble state To call upon him; he hopes it is no other But for your health and your digestion sake, And after-dinner’s breath.
Achilles asked me to say he’s very sorry, If anything more than your amusement and enjoyment Made you call on him; he hopes it’s nothing more Than for your health and digestion, And to clear your breath after dinner.
Hear you, Patroclus: We are too well acquainted with these answers: But his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn, Cannot outfly our apprehensions. Much attribute he hath, and much the reason Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his virtues, Not virtuously on his own part beheld, Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss, Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin, If you do say we think him over-proud And under-honest, in self-assumption greater Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, Disguise the holy strength of their command, And underwrite in an observing kind His humorous predominance; yea, watch His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if The passage and whole carriage of this action Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add, That if he overhold his price so much, We’ll none of him; but let him, like an engine Not portable, lie under this report: ’Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant.’ Tell him so.
Listen, Patroclus: We’re too familiar with these excuses: But his avoidance, flying so fast with contempt, Can’t escape our understanding. He has many qualities, and good reasons Why we attribute them to him; yet all his virtues, Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their shine, Yes, like good fruit in a bad dish, Are likely to spoil without being tasted. Go and tell him, We’ve come to speak with him; and you won’t be wrong If you say we think him too proud And not honest enough, in assuming more Than his reputation deserves; and more worthy Than he is himself. Here show the wild strangeness he puts on, Hide the real strength of their command, And watch, in a careful way, His unpredictable behavior; yes, watch His petty moods, his ups and downs, as if The entire course of this action Depended on his whims. Go tell him this, and add, That if he continues to value himself so highly, We’ll have no part of him; but let him, like an immobile machine, Stay under this reputation: ’Bring action here, this can’t go to war: A small, active person we’ll accept Before a giant who’s asleep.’ Tell him that.
I shall; and bring his answer presently.
I will; and bring back his answer right away.
In second voice we’ll not be satisfied; We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.
We won’t be satisfied with a second-rate answer; We’ve come to speak with him. Ulysses, you go in.
What is he more than another?
What makes him any more important than anyone else?
No more than what he thinks he is.
No more than what he thinks he is.
Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am?
Is he really that much? Don’t you think he thinks he’s a better man than I am?
No question.
Definitely.
Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is?
Will you agree with him and say he is?
No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.
No, noble Ajax; you’re just as strong, just as brave, just as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more easy to deal with.
Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is.
Why should a man be proud? How does pride grow? I don’t even know what pride is.
Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Your mind is clearer, Ajax, and your virtues are better. A man who is proud destroys himself: pride is his own mirror, his own trumpet, his own history; and anything that praises itself but doesn’t back it up with actions, destroys itself with that praise.
I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.
I hate a proud man, just like I hate the breeding of toads.
Yet he loves himself: is’t not strange?
Yet he loves himself: isn’t that strange?
Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Achilles won’t go to the field tomorrow.
What’s his excuse?
What’s his excuse?
He doth rely on none, But carries on the stream of his dispose Without observance or respect of any, In will peculiar and in self-admission.
He doesn’t rely on anyone, But goes along with his own will, Without caring about anyone else, In his own way and with his own admission.
Why will he not upon our fair request Untent his person and share the air with us?
Why won’t he, when we ask him nicely, come down and join us?
Things small as nothing, for request’s sake only, He makes important: possess’d he is with greatness, And speaks not to himself but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath: imagined worth Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse That ’twixt his mental and his active parts Kingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages And batters down himself: what should I say? He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it Cry ’No recovery.’
Things as small as nothing, just for the sake of a request, He makes seem important: he’s consumed by his own greatness, And doesn’t talk to himself, but with a pride That even argues with his own breath: he thinks so highly of himself that it fills him with a heated and swollen sense of self-worth. That between his mind and his actions Achilles is in turmoil and rage And is tearing himself apart: what should I say? He is so annoyingly proud that the signs of his downfall Shout ‘No recovery.’
Let Ajax go to him. Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent: ’Tis said he holds you well, and will be led At your request a little from himself.
Let Ajax go to him. Dear lord, you go and greet him in his tent: It’s said he respects you, and will be willing To step back a little from his pride, at your request.
O Agamemnon, let it not be so! We’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles: shall the proud lord That bastes his arrogance with his own seam And never suffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp’d Of that we hold an idol more than he? No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired; Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is, By going to Achilles: That were to enlard his fat already pride And add more coals to Cancer when he burns With entertaining great Hyperion. This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid, And say in thunder ’Achilles go to him.’
Oh Agamemnon, don’t let that happen! We’ll honor the steps that Ajax takes When he leaves Achilles: should the arrogant lord Who feeds his pride with his own ego And never lets the world’s concerns Enter his thoughts, except for those he creates And endlessly replays in his mind, should he be worshipped More than we would worship an idol? No, this truly worthy and brave lord Must not degrade his honor, nobly earned; Nor, by my will, lower his merit, No matter how highly Achilles is titled, By going to Achilles: That would just inflate his already excessive pride And add more fuel to the fire when he burns With the glory of being the greatest. This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid, And thunder down ‘Achilles go to him.’
[Aside to DIOMEDES] O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.
[Aside to DIOMEDES] Oh, this is good; he’s flattering him.
[Aside to NESTOR] And how his silence drinks up this applause!
[Aside to NESTOR] And how his silence soaks up this praise!
If I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face.
If I go to him, I’ll slap him across the face with my fist.
O, no, you shall not go.
Oh no, you shall not go.
An a’ be proud with me, I’ll pheeze his pride: Let me go to him.
If he’s proud with me, I’ll knock that pride out of him: Let me go to him.
Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Not for the value of what’s at stake in our quarrel.
A paltry, insolent fellow!
A worthless, arrogant fool!
How he describes himself!
Look at how he describes himself!
Can he not be sociable?
Can’t he be reasonable?
The raven chides blackness.
The raven criticizes darkness.
I’ll let his humours blood.
I’ll drain the anger from him.
He will be the physician that should be the patient.
He’ll be the doctor who should be the patient.
An all men were o’ my mind,--
If all men were like me,--
Wit would be out of fashion.
Wit would be out of style.
A’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat swords first: shall pride carry it?
He shouldn’t take it like this, he should eat swords first: will pride carry the day?
An ’twould, you’ld carry half.
If it did, you’d carry half of it.
A’ would have ten shares.
He’d want ten shares.
I will knead him; I’ll make him supple.
I’ll knead him; I’ll make him bend.
He’s not yet through warm: force him with praises: pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
He’s not ready yet: push him with praise: pour it in, pour it in; his ambition is dry.
[To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
[To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you’re focusing too much on this dislike.
Our noble general, do not do so.
Our noble leader, don’t do this.
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
You must get ready to fight without Achilles.
Why, ’tis this naming of him does him harm. Here is a man--but ’tis before his face; I will be silent.
Well, it’s calling him out that hurts him. Here’s a man--but it’s to his face; I’ll stay quiet.
Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Why should you stay quiet? He’s not as competitive as Achilles.
Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Know this: he’s just as brave.
A whoreson dog, that shall pelter thus with us! Would he were a Trojan!
A bastard dog, who’ll throw insults like this at us! I wish he were a Trojan!
What a vice were it in Ajax now,--
What a shame it would be for Ajax now,--
If he were proud,--
If he were proud,--
Or covetous of praise,--
Or greedy for praise,--
Ay, or surly borne,--
Yes, or grumpy by nature,--
Or strange, or self-affected!
Or strange, or self-obsessed!
Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure; Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck: Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice famed, beyond all erudition: But he that disciplined thy arms to fight, Let Mars divide eternity in twain, And give him half: and, for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts: here’s Nestor; Instructed by the antiquary times, He must, he is, he cannot but be wise: Put pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax.
Thank the heavens, my lord, you are of calm spirit; Praise the man who fathered you, and the woman who nursed you: Let your teacher be honored, and your natural abilities Be praised three times over, beyond all education: But the one who trained you to fight, Let Mars split eternity in two, And give him half: and for your strength, Let Milo, the bull-carrier, yield his reputation To the mighty Ajax. I won’t praise your wisdom, Which, like a stream, a river, or a shore, limits Your vast and extended talents: here’s Nestor; Taught by the wisdom of the ancient times, He must, he is, he cannot help but be wise: Forgive me, Father Nestor, if your days Were as youthful as Ajax’s, and your mind as sharp, You would not have the superiority over him, But be just like Ajax.
Shall I call you father?
Should I call you father?
Ay, my good son.
Yes, my good son.
Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.
Let him lead you, Lord Ajax.
There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war; Fresh kings are come to Troy: to-morrow We must with all our main of power stand fast: And here’s a lord,--come knights from east to west, And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
We can’t wait here; the mighty Achilles Is hiding in the woods. If it pleases our great general, To gather all his forces for war; New kings have come to Troy: tomorrow We must hold our ground with all our strength: And here’s a lord,--knights from all directions, Who choose their best, Ajax will be the strongest.
Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
Let’s go to the council. Let Achilles sleep: Small boats sail quickly, though bigger ships go deeper.