limbs.
Give pardon to my speech:
Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better yet to show,
Shall show the better. Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd,
Why then, we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
Give him allowance for the better man;
For that will physic the great Myrmidon
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes:
Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.
Thersites!
Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all over,
generally?
Thersites!
And those boils did run? say so: did not the
general run then? were not that a botchy core?
Dog!
Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.
Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear?
Feel, then.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
beef-witted lord!
Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will
beat thee into handsomeness.
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!
Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
The proclamation!
Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
Do not, porpentine, do not: my fingers itch.
I