Mother, thou spendest thy wind but in waste; The goddess of battle her fury on me hath cast. I am fully fixed battle for to taste: Oh, how many to death I shall drive in haste! I will ruffle this club about my head, Or else I pray God I never die in my bed. There shall never a stroke be stroken with my hand, But they shall think that Jupiter doth thunder in the land. MATER. My own sweet son, I, kneeling on my knee, And both my hands holding up to thee, Desire thee to cease, and no battle make: Call to thee patience, and better ways take. THERSITES. Tush, mother, I am deaf; I will thee not hear. No, no, if Jupiter here himself now were, And all the gods, and Juno his wife, And loving Minerva that abhorreth all strife: If all these, I say, would desire me to be content, They did their wind but in vain spent;[588] I will have battle in Wales or in Kent, And some of the knaves I will all-to rent.[589] Where is the valiant knight, Sir Isenbras? Appear, sir, I pray you, dare ye not show your face? Where is Robin John and Little Hood?[590] Approach hither quickly, if ye think it good; I will teach such outlaws with Christ's curses, How they take hereafter away abbots' purses. Why, will no adventure appear in this place? Where is Hercules with his great mace? Where is Busiris, that fed his horses Full like a tyrant with dead men's corses?[591] Come, any of you both, And I make an oath, That ere I eat any bread, I will drive a wain, Yea, for need twain, Between your body and your head. This[592] passeth my brains; Will none take the pains To try with me a blow? Oh, what a fellow am I, Whom every man doth fly, That doth me but once know! MATER. Son, all do you fear, That be present here; They will not with you fight. You, as you be worthy, Have now the victory Without tasting of your might. Here is none, I trow, That proffereth you a blow: Man, woman, nor child. Do not set your mind To fight with the wind: Be not so mad nor wild. THERSITES. I say, arise, whosoever will fight: I am to battle here ready-dight. Come hither, other swain or knight; Let me see who dare present him to my sight! Here with my club ready I stand, If any will come to take them in hand. MATER. There is no hope left in my breast To bring my son into better rest: He will do nothing at my request; He regardeth me no more than a beast. I see no remedy; but still I will pray To God my son to guide in his way; That he may have a prosperous journeying, And to be safe at his returning. Son, God above grant this my oration That, when in battle thou shalt have concertation With your enemies, other far or near, No wound in them nor in you may appear, So that ye nother kill nor be killed. THERSITES.