Who feeds on Ajax, yet loves him not, because he cannot love; But, as a species differing from mankind, Hates all he sees, and rails at all he knows; But hates them most from whom he most receives, Disdaining that his lot should be so low, That he should want the kindness which he takes. _Nest._ There's none so fit an engine:--Save ye, Thersites. _Ulys._ Hail, noble Grecian! thou relief of toils, Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war, In whose converse our winter nights are short, And summer days not tedious. _Thers._ Hang you both. _Nest._ How, hang us both! _Thers._ But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool! Thou sapless oak, that liv'st by wanting thought, And now, in thy three hundredth year, repin'st Thou shouldst be felled: hanging's a civil death, The death of men; thou canst not hang; thy trunk Is only fit for gallows to hang others. _Nest._ A fine greeting. _Thers._ A fine old dotard, to repine at hanging At such an age! what saw the Gods in thee, That a cock-sparrow should but live three years, And thou shouldst last three ages? he's thy better; He uses life; he treads himself to death. Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years. Thou stump of man, thou worn-out broom, thou lumber! _Nest._ I'll hear no more of him, his poison works; What, curse me for my age! _Ulys._ Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custom: What malice is there in a mirthful scene? 'Tis but a keen-edged sword, spread o'er with balm, To heal the wound it makes. _Thers._ Thou beg'st a curse? May'st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor, Who hangs on thee! thou lead'st him by the nose; Thou play'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him; And when thou hast contrived some dark design, To lose a thousand Greeks, make dogs-meat of us, Thou lay'st thy cuckoo's egg within his nest, And mak'st him hatch it; teachest his remembrance To lie, and say, the like of it was practised Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain, And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots. _Nest._ I'm no man's fool. _Thers._ Then be thy own, that's worse. _Nest._ He'll rail all day. _Ulys._ Then we shall learn all day. Who forms the body to a graceful carriage, Must imitate our aukward motions first; The same prescription does the wise Thersites Apply, to mend our minds. The same he uses To Ajax, to Achilles, to the rest; His satires are the physic of the camp. _Thers._ Would they were poison to't, ratsbane and hemlock! Nothing else can mend you, and those two brawny fools. _Ulys._ He hits 'em right; Are they not such, my Nestor? _Thers._ Dolt-heads, asses, And beasts of burden; Ajax and Achilles! The pillars, no, the porters of the war. Hard-headed rogues! engines, mere wooden engines Pushed on to do your work. _Nest._ They are indeed. _Thers._ But what a rogue art thou, To say they are indeed! Heaven made them horses, And thou put'st on their harness, rid'st and spurr'st them; Usurp'st upon heaven's fools, and mak'st them thine.