On Agamemnon, leader of the host, With words like these Thersites pour’d his hate; But straight Ulysses at his side appear’d, And spoke, with scornful glance, in stern rebuke: “Thou babbling fool, Thersites, prompt of speech, Restrain thy tongue, nor singly thus presume The Kings to slander; thou, the meanest far Of all that with the Atridae came to Troy. Ill it beseems, that such an one as thou Should lift thy voice against the Kings, and rail With scurril ribaldry, and prate of home. How these affairs may end, we know not yet; Nor how, or well or ill, we may return. Cease then against Atrides, King of men, To pour thy spite, for that the valiant Greeks To him, despite thy railing, as of right An ample portion of the spoils assign. But this I tell thee, and will make it good, If e’er I find thee play the fool, as now, Then may these shoulders cease this head to bear, And may my son Telemachus no more Own me his father, if I strip not off Thy mantle and thy garments, aye, expose Thy nakedness, and flog thee to the ships Howling, and scourg’d with ignominious stripes.” Thus as he spoke, upon Thersites’ neck And back came down his heavy staff; the wretch Shrank from the blow, and scalding tears let fall. Where struck the golden-studded staff, appear’d A bloody weal: Thersites quail’d, and down, Quiv’ring with pain, he sat, and wip’d away. With horrible grimace, the trickling tears. The Greeks, despite their anger, laugh’d aloud, And one to other said, “Good faith, of all The many works Ulysses well hath done, Wise in the council, foremost in the fight, He ne’er hath done a better, than when now He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace. Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon Lead him again to vilify the Kings.”