John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Than in his pride, should he ‘scape Hector fair.

  But grant he should be foiled;

  Why then our common reputation suffers

  In that of our best man. No, make a lottery;

  And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw

  The chance to fight with Hector: among ourselves,

  Give him allowance as the braver man;

  For that will physic the great Myrmidon,

  Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall

  His crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off:

  If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion,

  That we have better men.

  Nest. Now I begin to relish thy advice:

  Come, let us go to Agamemnon strait,

  To inform him of our project.

  Ulys. ’Tis not ripe.

  The skilful surgeon will not lance a sore,

  Till nature has digested and prepared

  The growing humours to her healing purpose;

  Else must he often grieve the patient’s sense,

  When one incision, once well-timed, would serve.

  Are not Achilles and dull Ajax friends?

  Nest. As much as fools can be.

  Ulys. That knot of friendship first must be untied,

  Ere we can reach our ends; for, while they love each other,

  Both hating us, will draw too strong a bias,

  And all the camp will lean that way they draw;

  For brutal courage is the soldier’s idol:

  So, if one prove contemptuous, backed by t’other,

  ‘Twill give the law to cool and sober sense,

  And place the power of war in madmen’s hands.

  Nest. Now I conceive you; were they once divided,

  And one of them made ours, that one would check

  The other’s towering growth, and keep both low,

  As instruments, and not as lords of war.

  And this must be by secret coals of envy

  Blown in their breast; comparisons of worth;

  Great actions weighed of each; and each the best,

  As we shall give him voice.

  Ulys. Here comes Thersites,

  Enter Thersites.

  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.

  Nest. No; they are headstrong fools, to be corrected

  By none but by Thersites; thou alone

  Canst tame and train them to their proper use;

  And, doing this, may’st claim a just reward

  From Greece and royal Agamemnon’s hands.

  Thers. Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving,

  For wit’s a dear commodity among you;

  But when you do not want him, then stale porridge,

  A starved dog would not lap, and furrow water,

  Is all the wine we taste: give drabs and pimps;

  I’ll have no gifts with hooks at end of them.

  Ulys. Is this a man, O Nestor, to be bought?

  Asia’s not price enough! bid the world for him.

  And shall this man, this Hermes, this Apollo,

  Sit lag of Ajax’ table, almost minstrel,

  And with his presence grace a brainless feast?

  Why they con sense from him, grow wits by rote,

  And yet, by ill repeating, libel him,

  Making his wit their nonsense: nay, they scorn him;

  Call him bought railer, mercenary tongue!

  Play him for sport at meals, and kick him off.

  Thers. Yes, they can kick; my buttocks feel they can;

  They have their asses tricks; but I’ll eat pebbles,

  I’ll starve,— ’tis brave to starve, ’tis like a soldier, —

  Before I’ll feed those wit-starved rogues with sense.

  They shall eat dry, and choak for want of wit,

  Ere they be moistened with one drop of mine.

  Ajax and Achilles! two mud-walls of fool,

  That only differ in degrees of thickness.

  Ulys. I’d be revenged of both. When wine fumes high,

  Set them to prate, to boast their brutal strength,

  To vie their stupid courage, till they quarrel,

  And play at hard head with their empty skulls.

  Thers. Yes; the
y shall butt and kick, and all the while

  I’ll think they kick for me; they shall fell timber

  On both sides, and then logwood will be cheap.

  Nest. And Agamemnon —

  Thers. Pox of Agamemnon!

  Cannot I do a mischief for myself,

  But he must thank me for’t?

  Ulys. to Nest. Away; our work is done. [Exeunt Ulys. and Nest.

  Thers. This Agamemnon is a king of clouts,

  A chip in porridge, —

  Enter Ajax.

  Ajax. Thersites.

  Thers. Set up to frighten daws from cherry-trees, —

  Ajax. Dog!

  Thers. A standard to march under.

  Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf! can’st thou not hear? feel then. [Strikes him.

  Thers. The plague of Greece, and Helen’s pox light on thee,

  Thou mongrel mastiff, thou beef-witted lord!

  Ajax. Speak then, thou mouldy leaven of the camp;

  Speak, or I’ll beat thee into handsomeness.

  Thers. I shall sooner rail thee into wit; thou canst kick, canst thou? A red murrain on thy jades tricks!

  Ajax. Tell me the proclamation.

  Thers. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.

  Ajax. You whorson cur, take that.[Strikes him.

  Thers. Thou scurvy valiant ass!

  Ajax. Thou slave!

  Thers. Thou lord! — Ay, do, do, — would my buttocks were iron, for thy sake!

  Enter Achilles and Patroclus.

  Achil. Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you this?

  How now, Thersites, what’s the matter, man?

  Thers. I say this Ajax wears his wit in’s belly, and his guts in’s brains.

  Achil. Peace, fool.

  Thers. I would have peace, but the fool will not.

  Patro. But what’s the quarrel?

  Ajax. I bade him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

  Thers. I serve thee not.

  Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

  Thers. ’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much sense as thou afterwards. I’ll see you hanged ere I come any more to your tent; I’ll keep where there’s wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.

  [Going.

  Achil. Nay, thou shalt not go, Thersites, till we have squeezed the venom out of thee: pr’ythee, inform us of this proclamation.

  Thers. Why, you empty fuz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else but proclamations.

  Ajax. Tell us the news, I say.

  Thers. You say! why you never said any thing in all your life. But, since you will know, it is proclaimed through the army, that Hector is to cudgel you to-morrow.

  Achil. How, cudgel him, Thersites!

  Thers. Nay, you may take a child’s part on’t if you have so much courage, for Hector has challenged the toughest of the Greeks; and it is in dispute which of your two heads is the soundest timber. A knotty piece of work he’ll have betwixt your noddles.

  Achil. If Hector be to fight with any Greek,

  He knows his man.

  Ajax. Yes; he may know his man without art magic.

  Thers. So he had need; for, to my certain knowledge, neither of you two are conjurers to inform him.

  Achil. to Ajax. You do not mean yourself, sure?

  Ajax. I mean nothing.

  Thers. Thou mean’st so always.

  Achil. Umh! mean nothing!

  Thers. [Aside.] Jove, if it be thy will, let these two fools quarrel about nothing! ’tis a cause that’s worthy of them.

  Ajax. You said he knew his man; is there but one?

  One man amongst the Greeks?

  Achil. Since you will have it,

  But one to fight with Hector.

  Ajax. Then I am he.

  Achil. Weak Ajax!

  Ajax. Weak Achilles.

  Thers. Weak indeed; God help you both!

  Patro. Come, this must be no quarrel.

  Thers. There’s no cause for’t

  Patro. He tells you true, you are both equal.

  Thers. Fools.

  Achil. I can brook no comparisons.

  Ajax. Nor I.

  Achil. Well, Ajax.

  Ajax. Well, Achilles.

  Thers. So, now they quarrel in monosyllables; a word and a blow, an’t be thy will.

  Achil. You may hear more.

  Ajax. I would.

  Achil. Expect.

  Ajax. Farewell.[Exeunt severally.

  Thers. Curse on them, they want wine; your true fool will never fight without it. Or a drab, a drab; Oh for a commodious drab betwixt them! would Helen had been here! then it had come to something.

  Dogs, lions, bulls, for females tear and gore;

  And the beast, man, is valiant for his whore. [Exit Thersites.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Thersites.

  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 303 wide hole at last full in his bosom, to let in day upon him, and discover the inside of a fool.

  Patro. How he struts in expectation of honour! he knows not what he does.

  Thers. Nay, that’s no wonder, for
he never did.

  Achil. Pr’ythee, say how he behaves himself?

  Thers. O, you would be learning to practise against such another time? — Why, he tosses up his head as he had built castles in the air; and he treads upward to them, stalks into the element; he surveys himself, as it were to look for Ajax: he would be cried, for he has lost himself; nay, he knows nobody; I said, “Good-morrow, Ajax,” and he replied, “Thanks, Agamemnon.”

  Achil. Thou shalt be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

  Thers. No, I’ll put on his person; let Patroclus make his demands to me, and you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

  Achil. To him, Patroclus; tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the noble Hector to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for him from our captain general Agamemnon.

  Patro. Jove bless the mighty Ajax!

  Thers. Humh!

  Patro. I come from the great Achilles.

  Thers. Ha!

  Patro. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent.

  Thers. Humh!

  Patro. And to procure him safe conduct from Agamemnon.

  Thers. Agamemnon?

  Patro. Ay, my lord.

  Thers. Ha!

  Patro. What say you to it?

  Thers. Farewell, with all my heart.

  Patro. Your answer, sir?

  Thers. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o’clock it will go one way or the other; however, he shall buy me dearly. Fare you well, with all my heart.

  Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

  Thers. No; but he’s thus out of tune. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not, nor I care not; but if emptiness makes noise, his head will make melody.

  Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred; And I myself see not the bottom on’t.

  Thers. Would the fountain of his mind were clear, that he might see an ass in it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.

  [Aside.

  Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Diomedes, and Menelaus.

  Patro. Look, who comes here.

  Achil. Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody; — come in after me, Thersites.

  [Exeunt Achilles and Thersites.

  Again. Where’s Achilles?

  Patro. Within, but ill disposed, my lord.

  Men. We saw him at the opening of his tent.

  Again. Let it be known to him, that we are here.

  Patro. I shall say so to him.[Exit Patroc.

  Diom. I know he is not sick.

  Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may call it melancholy, if you will humour him; but, on my honour, it is no more than pride; and why should he be proud?

  Men. Here comes Patroclus; but no Achilles with him.