Act 5, Scene I

SCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.

Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
ACHILLES
I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

PATROCLUS
Here comes Thersites.

Enter THERSITES

ACHILLES
How now, thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?

THERSITES
Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol
of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.

ACHILLES
From whence, fragment?

THERSITES
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

PATROCLUS
Who keeps the tent now?

THERSITES
The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound.

PATROCLUS
Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks?

THERSITES
Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk:
thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet.

PATROCLUS
Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?

THERSITES
Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases
of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs,
loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold
palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing
lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas,
limekilns i' the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the
rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take
again such preposterous discoveries!

PATROCLUS
Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest
thou to curse thus?

THERSITES
Do I curse thee?

PATROCLUS
Why no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson
indistinguishable cur, no.

THERSITES
No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle
immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou green sarcenet
flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's
purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered
with such waterflies, diminutives of nature!

PATROCLUS
Out, gall!

THERSITES
Finch-egg!

ACHILLES
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it:
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus!

Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS

THERSITES
With too much blood and too little brain, these two
may run mad; but, if with too much brain and too
little blood they do, I'll be a curer of madmen.
Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough and one
that loves quails; but he has not so