Original
Modern English
Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlets Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm: I would fain see them meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand. O’ the t’other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals, that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not proved worthy a blackberry: they set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.
Now they’re arguing with each other; I’ll go watch. That lying, detestable scoundrel Diomed, has that same stupid, lovesick young idiot’s sleeve of Troy on his helmet: I’d like to see them meet; so that same young Trojan fool, who loves that prostitute, could send that Greek bastard back to the lying, luxurious, good-for-nothing slut, on a pointless mission. On the other side, the tricks of those crafty, lying scoundrels, that old, decayed, dry cheese, Nestor, and that same sneaky fox, Ulysses, don’t seem worth anything at all: they set me up, in strategy, with that mixed-breed dog, Ajax, against that other dog, Achilles: and now Ajax, the dog, is prouder than Achilles, the dog, and won’t fight today; and so the Greeks start to act like barbarians, and strategy gets a bad name. Wait! here comes the sleeve, and the other one.
Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after.
Don’t run away; even if you took the river Styx, I’d swim after you.
Thou dost miscall retire: I do not fly, but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: Have at thee!
You’re wrong to call it retreat: I’m not running, I’m just wisely stepping aside from the risk of being outnumbered: Take that!
Hold thy whore, Grecian!--now for thy whore, Trojan!--now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
Hold on to your whore, Greek!--now for your whore, Trojan!--now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector’s match? Art thou of blood and honour?
Who are you, Greek? Are you here to match Hector? Are you of noble blood and honour?
No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave: a very filthy rogue.
No, no, I’m a jerk; a filthy, insulting liar: a really disgusting person.
I do believe thee: live.
I believe you: live.
God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for frightening me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle: yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I’ll seek them.
Thanks, that you’ll believe me; but I hope you break your neck for scaring me! What’s happened to those womanizing jerks? I think they’ve eaten each other: I’d laugh at that miracle: still, in a way, lust consumes itself. I’ll go look for them.