_Thers._ Shall the idiot Ajax use me thus? he beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! would I could but beat him, and he railed at me! Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer; if Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. Now the plague on the whole camp, or rather the pox; for that's a curse dependent on those that fight, as we do, for a cuckold's quean.--What, ho, my lord Achilles! _Enter_ PATROCLUS. _Patro._ Who's there, Thersites? Good Thersites, come in and rail. _Thers._ If I could have remembered an ass with gilt trappings, thou hadst not slipped out of my contemplation. But it is no matter: thyself upon thyself! the common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great abundance! Heavens bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee!--I have said my prayers; and the devil, Envy, say Amen. Where's Achilles? _Enter_ ACHILLES. _Achil._ Who's there, Thersites? Why, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself to my table so many meals? Come, begin; what's Agamemnon? _Thers._ Thy commander, Achilles.--Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? _Patro._ Thy benefactor, Thersites. Then tell me, pr'ythee, what's thyself? _Thers._ Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou? _Patro._ Thou mayest tell, that knowest. _Achil._ O, tell, tell.--This must be very foolish; and I die to have my spleen tickled. _Thers._ I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my benefactor; I am Patroclus's knower; and Patroclus is a fool. _Patro._ You rascal! _Achil,_ He is a privileged man; proceed, Thersites. Ha, ha, ha! pr'ythee, proceed, while I am in the vein of laughing. _Thers._ And all these foresaid men are fools. Agamemnon's a fool, to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool, to be commanded by him; I am a fool, to serve such a fool; and Patroclus is a fool positive. _Patro._ Why am I a fool? _Thers._ Make that demand to heaven; it suffices me, thou art one. _Acini._ Ha, ha, ha! O give me ribs of steel, or I shall split with pleasure.--Now play me Nestor at a night alarm: mimick him rarely; make him cough and spit, and fumble with his gorget, and shake the rivets with his palsy hand, in and out, in and out; gad, that's exceeding foolish. _Patro._ Nestor shall not escape so; he has told us what we are. Come, what's Nestor? _Thers._ Why, he is an old wooden top, set up by father Time three hundred years ago, that hums to Agamemnon and Ulysses, and sleeps to all the world besides. _Achil._ So let him sleep, for I'll no more of him.--O, my Patroclus, I but force a smile; Ajax has drawn the lot, and all the praise of Hector must be his. _Thers._ I hope to see his praise upon his shoulders, in blows and bruises; his arms, thighs, and body, all full of fame, such fame as he gave me; and a wide hole at last full in his bosom, to let in day upon him, and discover the inside of a fool.