_Menel._ Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool? _Thers._ Why, thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou thinkest he makes horns at thee? Thou prince of the herd, what hast thou to do with laughing? 'Tis the prerogative of a man, to laugh. Thou risibility without reason, thou subject of laughter, thou fool royal! _Ulys._ But tell us the occasion of thy mirth? _Thers._ Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own kind.--Why, the enemies are broken into our trenches; fools like Menelaus fall by thousands yet not a human soul departs on either side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off, but are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon, and Hector Patroclus, so there is a towardly springing fop gone off; he might have made a prince one day, but now he's nipt in the very bud and promise of a most prodigious coxcomb. _Agam._ Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles; Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid. The alarm sounds near, and shouts are driven upon us, As of a crowd confused in their retreat. _Ulys._ Open your ranks, and make these madmen way, Then close again to charge upon their backs, And quite consume the relics of the war. [_Exeunt all but_ THERSITES. _Thers._ What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away! How it purges families of younger brothers, highways of robbers, and cities of cuckold-makers! There is nothing like a pitched battle for these brisk addle-heads! Your physician is a pretty fellow, but his fees make him tedious, he rides not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker remedy, but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men and rogues together. But your battle has discretion; it picks out all the forward fools, and sowses them together into immortality. [_Shouts and alarms within_] Plague upon these drums and trumpets! these sharp sauces of the war, to get fools an appetite to fighting! What do I among them? I shall be mistaken for some valiant ass, and die a martyr in a wrong religion. [_Here Grecians fly over the stage pursued by Trojans; one Trojan turns back upon_ THERSITES _who is flying too._ _Troj._ Turn, slave, and fight. _Thers._ [_turning._] What art thou? _Troj._ A bastard son of Priam's. _Thers._ I am a bastard too, I love bastards, I am bastard in body, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. A bear will not fasten upon a bear; why should one bastard offend another! Let us part fair, like true sons of whores, and have the fear of our mothers before our eyes. _Troj._ The devil take thee, coward. [_Exit Troj._