If not Achilles? Though ‘t be a sportful combat,
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute 345
With their fin’st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois’d
In this wild action; for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general; 350
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is suppos’d
He that meets Hector issues from our choice; 355
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
As ‘twere from forth us all, a man distill’d
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence the conquering part, 360
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech: 365
Therefore ’tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us like merchants show our foulest wares,
And think perchance they’ll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better yet to show
Shall show the better. Do not consent 370
That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg’d with two strange followers.
Nest. I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, 375
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Afric sun
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he ‘scape Hector fair: if he were foil’d, 380
Why then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No; make a lottery;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
Give him allowance as the worthier man, 385
For that will physic the great Myrmidon
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall
His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We’ll dress him up in voices: if he fail, 390
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes:
Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.
Nest. Ulysses, 395
Now I begin to relish thy advice;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ‘twere their bone. [Exeunt. 400
Act II. Scene I.
A PART OF the Grecian Camp.
Enter AJAX and THERSITES.
Ajax. Thersites!
Ther. Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all over, generally?
Ajax. Thersites! 5
Ther. And those boils did run? Say so, did not the general run then? were not that a botchy core?
Ajax. Dog!
Ther. Then would come some matter from him: I see none now.
Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear?
Feel, then. [Strikes him. 10
Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!
Ajax. Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness.
Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!
Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? 15
Ajax. The proclamation!
Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
Ajax. Do not, porpentine, do not: my fingers itch.
Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab of Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.
Ajax. I say, the proclamation! 20
Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty, ay that thou barkest at him.
Ajax. Mistress Thersites!
Ther. Thou shouldst strike him.
Ajax. Cobloaf!
Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 25
Ajax. You whoreson cur. [Beating him.
Ther. Do, do.
Ajax. Thou stool for a witch!
Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!
Ajax. You dog! 30
Ther. You scurvy lord!
Ajax. You cur! [Beating him.
Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.
Achil. Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you this? 35
How now, Thersites! what’s the matter, man?
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Achil. Ay; what’s the matter?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.
Achil. So I do: what’s the matter? 40
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. ‘Well!’ why, so I do.
Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 45
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.
Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I’ll tell you what I say of him.
Achil. What?
Ther. I say, this Ajax, — [AJAX offers to strike him.
Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 50
Ther. Has not so much wit —
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.
Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.
Achil. Peace, fool!
Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not: he there; that he; look you there. 55
Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall —
Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool’s will shame it.
Patr. Good words, Thersites.
Achil. What’s the quarrel? 60
Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
Ajax. Well, go to, go to.
Ther. I serve here voluntary.
Achil. Your last service was sufferance, ’twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 65
Ther. Even so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch if he knock out either of your brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut w
ith no kernel.
Achil. What, with me too, Thersites?
Ther. There’s Ulysses and old Nestor, whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, yoke you like draught-oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
Achil. What, what?
Ther. Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! 70
Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.
Ther. ’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.
Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace!
Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?
Achil. There’s for you, Patroclus. 75
Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents: I will keep where there is wit stirring and leave the faction of fools. [Exit.
Patr. A good riddance.
Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host:
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
Will, with a trumpet, ‘twixt our tents and Troy 80
To morrow morning call some knight to arms
That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
Maintain — I know not what: ’tis trash. Farewell.
Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Achil. I know not: it is put to lottery; otherwise, 85
He knew his man.
Ajax. O, meaning you. I will go learn more of it. [Exeunt.
Act II. Scene II.
Troy. A Room in PRIAM’S Palace.
Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.
Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else, 5
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d
In hot digestion of this cormorant war,
Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to ‘t?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, 10
As far as toucheth my particular,
Yet, dread Priam,
There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’ 15
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call’d
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 20
Every tithe soul, ‘mongst many thousand dismes,
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:
If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten, 25
What merit’s in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up?
Tro. Fie, fie! my brother,
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king
So great as our dread father in a scale 30
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The past proportion of his infinite?
And buckle in a waist most fathomless
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame! 35
Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none that tells him so?
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; 40
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:
You know an enemy intends you harm;
You know a sword employ’d is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm:
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 45
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let’s shut our gates and sleep: manhood and honour 50
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm’d reason: reason and respect
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.
Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding. 55
Tro. What is aught but as ’tis valu’d?
Hect. But value dwells not in particular will;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein ’tis precious of itself
As in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry 60
To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes that is inclinable
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of the affected merit.
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 65
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots ‘twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment. How may I avoid,
Although my will distaste what it elected, 70
The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
To blench from this and to stand firm by honour.
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
When we have soil’d them, nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective sink 75
Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full consent bellied his sails;
The seas and winds — old wranglers — took a truce
And did him service: he touch’d the ports desir’d, 80
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, 85
Whose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships,
And turn’d crown’d kings to merchants.
If you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went, —
As you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go,’ —
If you’ll confess he brought home noble prize, — 90
As you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands,
And cry’d ‘Inestimable!’ — why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that Fortune never did,
Beggar the estimation which you priz’d 95
Richer than sea and land? O! theft most base,
That we have stol’n what we do fear to keep!
But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n,
That in their country did them that disgrace
We fear to warrant in our native place. 100
Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!
Pri. What noise? what shriek?
Tro. ’Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.
Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans!
Hect. It is Cassandra. 105
Enter CASSANDRA, raving.
Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
Hect. Peace, sister, peace!
Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, 110
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; 115
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe!
Cry, c
ry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.
Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
Of divination in our sister work 120
Some touches of remorse? or is your blood
So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Can qualify the same?
Tro. Why, brother Hector, 125
We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it,
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Cassandra’s mad: her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 130
Which hath our several honours all engag’d
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons;
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 135
To fight for and maintain.
Par. Else might the world convince of levity
As well my undertakings as your counsels;
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension and cut off 140
All fears attending on so dire a project:
For what, alas! can these my single arms?
What propugnation is in one man’s valour,
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, 145
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne’er retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the pursuit.
Pri. Paris, you speak 150
Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So to be valiant is no praise at all.
Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasure such a beauty brings with it; 155
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip’d off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack’d queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up, 160
On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
That so degenerate a strain as this
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There’s not the meanest spirit on our party
Without a heart to dare or sword to draw 165
When Helen is defended, nor none so noble
Whose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d
Where Helen is the subject: then, I say,
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 431
