Original
Modern English
I’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I’ll cool to-morrow. Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
I’ll heat his blood with Greek wine tonight, Which with my sword I’ll cool tomorrow. Patroclus, let’s give him a feast to remember.
Here comes Thersites.
Here comes Thersites.
How now, thou core of envy! Thou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?
What’s up, you bitter fool! You crummy excuse for a human, what’s the news?
Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here’s a letter for thee.
Well, you’re just the picture of what you look like, and the idol of idiots who worship you, here’s a letter for you.
From whence, fragment?
From who, you piece of trash?
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
From Troy, you big fool.
Who keeps the tent now?
Who’s guarding the tent now?
The surgeon’s box, or the patient’s wound.
The surgeon’s kit, or the patient’s wound.
Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks?
Well put, troublemaker! And why these games?
Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles’ male varlet.
Please, shut up, boy; I don’t benefit from your chatter: You’re just thought to be Achilles’ servant.
Male varlet, you rogue! what’s that?
Servant, you scoundrel! What’s that supposed to mean?
Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel i’ the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i’ the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!
His male prostitute. Now, the disgusting diseases from the south, cramps, ruptures, colds, kidney stones, weakness, cold paralysis, sore eyes, rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of pus, sciatica, limekilns in the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the wrinkled skin of a rash, take and take again such ridiculous discoveries!
Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?
Why you damnable box of jealousy, what do you mean by cursing like this?
Do I curse thee?
Do I curse you?
Why no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.
No! You ruinous fool, you bastard worthless dog, no.
No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such waterflies, diminutives of nature!
No! Then why are you so angry, you useless thin thread of silk, you green cloth for a sore eye, you leftover from a spendthrift’s purse, huh? Ah, how the poor world is troubled with such insignificant people, weak imitations of nature!
Out, gall!
Get lost, jerk!
Finch-egg!
You little bird!
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to-morrow’s battle. Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, A token from her daughter, my fair love, Both taxing me and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; My major vow lies here, this I’ll obey. Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent: This night in banqueting must all be spent. Away, Patroclus!
My sweet Patroclus, I am completely stopped From my great goal in tomorrow’s battle. Here’s a letter from Queen Hecuba, A gift from her daughter, my dear love, Both criticizing me and forcing me to keep An oath that I’ve sworn. I won’t break it: Fall, Greeks; forget fame; honor leave or stay; My main promise is here, this I’ll follow. Come on, Thersites, help set up my tent: This night must be spent in feasting. Go, Patroclus!
With too much blood and too little brain, these two may run mad; but, if with too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of madmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough and one that loves quails; but he has not so much brain as earwax: and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull,--the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother’s leg,--to what form but that he is, should wit larded with malice and malice forced with wit turn him to? To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not, what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus! Hey-day! spirits and fires!
With too much blood and too little sense, these two might go mad; but if they have too much sense and too little blood, I’ll be a doctor for madmen. Here comes Agamemnon, a good enough guy and one who loves quail; but he has no more brains than earwax: and that impressive transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull,—the original statue, and indirect reminder of cuckolds; a cheap shoehorn in a chain, hanging at his brother’s leg,—what form but the one he has, should wit mixed with malice and malice mixed with wit turn him into? To a donkey, that’s nothing; he’s both donkey and ox: to an ox, that’s nothing; he’s both ox and donkey. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a weasel, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a kite, or a fish without eggs, I wouldn’t care; but to be Menelaus, I would plot against fate. Don’t ask me what I’d be if I weren’t Thersites; I wouldn’t care to be the louse of a beggar, as long as I weren’t Menelaus! Oh, look! Spirits and fire!
We go wrong, we go wrong.
We’re making a mistake, we’re making a mistake.
No, yonder ’tis; There, where we see the lights.
No, over there it is; There, where we see the lights.
I trouble you.
I bother you.
No, not a whit.
No, not at all.
Here comes himself to guide you.
Here he comes to lead you.
Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all.
Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, all you princes.
So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good night. Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
Now, noble prince of Troy, I wish you good night. Ajax is in charge of the guard to look after you.
Thanks and good night to the Greeks’ general.
Thanks, and good night to the Greek general.
Good night, my lord.
Good night, my lord.
Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.
Good night, my dear lord Menelaus.
Sweet draught: ’sweet’ quoth ’a! sweet sink, sweet sewer.
Sweet drink: “sweet,” he says! Sweet filth, sweet garbage.
Good night and welcome, both at once, to those That go or tarry.
Good night and welcome, both at once, to those Who are leaving or staying.
Good night.
Good night.
Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company an hour or two.
Old Nestor stays behind; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company for an hour or two.
I cannot, lord; I have important business, The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.
I can’t, my lord; I have urgent business, The time for which is now. Good night, great Hector.
Give me your hand.
Give me your hand.
[Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he goes to Calchas’ tent: I’ll keep you company.
[Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he’s going to Calchas’ tent: I’ll keep you company.
Sweet sir, you honour me.
Thank you, sir, you’re too kind.
And so, good night.
And with that, good night.
Come, come, enter my tent.
Come on, come in to my tent.
That same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabbler the hound: but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him: they say he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent: I’ll after. Nothing but lechery! all incontinent varlets!
That Diomed is a lying traitor, a totally dishonest scoundrel; I won’t trust him when he grins any more than I would trust a snake when it hisses: he’ll talk a lot, and promise anything, like that loud-mouthed dog Brabbler: but when he actually does what he says, it’ll be like a miracle; it would be so amazing, you’d think something was about to change; the sun would borrow light from the moon, if Diomed actually kept his word. I’d rather not see Hector at all, than not follow Diomed: they say he keeps a Trojan prostitute, and hangs around that traitor Calchas’ tent: I’ll follow him. All about sex! every last one of them is a filthy rascal!