The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 663
and he has beaten my body. I can buy nine sparrows for a penny, and
his brain isn't worth a ninth of a sparrow. This
lord, Achilles, Ajax–who has his brains in his belly and his guts
in his head–I'll tell you what I say about him.
ACHILLES.
What?
What?
THERSITES.
I say this Ajax- [AJAX offers to strike him]
I say this Ajax–
ACHILLES.
Nay, good Ajax.
No, good Ajax.
THERSITES.
Has not so much wit-
Hasn't got enough brains–
ACHILLES.
Nay, I must hold you.
No, I must hold you back.
THERSITES.
As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he
comes to fight.
To block up the eye of Helen's needle, the one he came
to fight for.
ACHILLES.
Peace, fool.
Quiet, fool.
THERSITES.
I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not-
he there; that he; look you there.
I want peace and quiet, but that fool doesn't–
him there; that one; look at him.
AJAX.
O thou damned cur! I shall-
Oh you dammed mongrel! I shall–
ACHILLES.
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Are you going to argue with a fool?
THERSITES.
No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it.
No, I bet he won't, because the fool would win.
PATROCLUS.
Good words, Thersites.
Well said, Thersites.
ACHILLES.
What's the quarrel?
What are you arguing about?
AJAX.
I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the
proclamation, and he rails upon me.
I told this wiseacre to go and find out about
the proclamation, and he has a go at me.
THERSITES.
I serve thee not.
I'm not your servant.
AJAX.
Well, go to, go to.
Well, whatever.
THERSITES.
I serve here voluntary.
I serve here voluntarily.
ACHILLES.
Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No
man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as
under an impress.
The beating you just got was suffering; it wasn't voluntary.
No man volunteers to be beaten. Ajax was the volunteer,
you were conscripted.
THERSITES.
E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your
sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch
an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as good crack a
fusty nut with no kernel.
Exactly; you also have most of your brains in your
muscles, if people aren't lying. Hector won't get much
if he tries to knock out either of your brains: he might as well crack a
rottennut with no meat.
ACHILLES.
What, with me too, Thersites?
That applies to me too, Thersites?
THERSITES.
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.
There is Ulysses and old Nestor–whose brains
were mouldy before your grandfathers were born–they control you
like farm animals, and make you slave in their wars.
ACHILLES.
What, what?
What, what?
THERSITES.
Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to!
Yes indeed. Yah, Achilles, giddyup Ajax!
AJAX.
I shall cut out your tongue.
I shall cut out your tongue.
THERSITES.
'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou
afterwards.
It doesn't matter; I'll speak as much sense as you
afterwards.
PATROCLUS.
No more words, Thersites; peace!
That's enough from you,Thersites; quiet!
THERSITES.
I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall
I?
So I should be quiet when Achilles' tart tells me to?
ACHILLES.
There's for you, Patroclus.
He's got you there, Patroclus.
THERSITES.
I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more
to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave
the faction of fools.
I'll see you hang like the blockheads you are before I come
back to your tents. I'll stay where there are some brains,
and leave this group of fools alone.
Exit
PATROCLUS.
A good riddance.
Good riddance.
ACHILLES.
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,
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.
Now, sir, this is announced through all our army,
that Hector, five hours after sunrise,
will sound a trumpet betweenour tents and Troy,
tomorrow morning, challenging any knight
who dares to face him; and anyone that dares
say–I don't know what; it's rubbish. Farewell.
AJAX.
Farewell. Who shall answer him?
Farewell. Who will fight him?
ACHILLES.
I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise he knew his
man.
I don't know; they are drawing lots. Otherwise he knew
who he would get.
AJAX.
O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.
Oh, meaning you! I will go and learn more about it.
Exeunt
Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS
PRIAM.
After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
'Deliver Helen, and all damage else-
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?
After the waste of so much time, so many speeches, so many lives,
Nestor has once again sent us a message from the Greeks:
‘Hand over Helen, and all other damages–
such as the damage to honour, the loss of time, hardship, expense,
wounds, loss of friends, and everything else precious
that has been gobbled up in this greedy war–
will be written off.’ Hector, what do you think of that?
HECTOR.
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
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?'
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 th' bottom of the worst. Let H
elen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
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,
What merit's in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up?
Although no man is less afraid of the Greeks than I,
as far as it affects me personally,
but, great Priam,
there is no lady who has a greater sense of pity,
who is more ready to become worried,
more ready to cry out, ‘who knows what will happen afterwards?’
than Hector is. Thegreatest threat to peace is overconfidence
and the feeling of safetyit gives; sensible caution is called
the guiding light of the wise, the probe that searches
until it discovers the worst. Let Helen go.
Since this war began on this matter,
every soul that war has claimed from us from many thousands
was as important as Helen–I meanour men.
If we have lost so many lives
to guard something that's not ours, and not worth
(even if she was Trojan) the value of one soul,
how can anybody justify not
giving her up?
TROILUS.
Fie, fie, my brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father's, in a scale
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!
Come, come, my brother!
Do you reckon the value and honour of King,
as great as our magnificent father, can be measured
against ordinary lives? Can you calculate
his incalculable greatness with counters,
and measure such a great person
with such tiny units of measurement
as fears and reasons? Shame on you, for God's sake!
HELENUS.
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?
It's no wonder that you object so much to reason,
as you have none of it. Shouldn't our father
govern his great affairs with reason,
especially as you tell him not to?
TROILUS.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
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
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
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason. Reason and respect
Make livers pale and lustihood deject.
You are made for dreams and sleeping, my priestly brother;
you make yourself comfortable with reason. Here are your
reasons:
you know an enemy intends to harm you;
you know that swords are dangerous,
and reason runs away from anything that can harm it.
Is anyone surprised, then, that when Helenus sees
a Greek with his sword,he puts
the wings of reason on his heels,
and flies like scolded Mercury away from Jove,
like a shooting star? If we're going to talk about reason,
let's close our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour
would be as timid as rabbits, if all they fed their thoughts on
was this fatty reason; reason and caution
make the blood thin and the body weak.
HECTOR.
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The keeping.
Brother, she is not worth what it costs us
to keep her.
TROILUS.
What's aught but as 'tis valued?
What's anything worth apart from the value you give it?
HECTOR.
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
To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes that is attributive
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without some image of th' affected merit.
But value can't just be judged by one man:
it only has a true worth when it
has some intrinsic value, as well as
being valued in someone's opinion. It's mad idolatry
to value the worship more than the god;
and a person is besotted if he attaches himself
to something which actually does him harm
and has no demonstrable merit.
TROILUS.
I take to-day a wife, and my election
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,
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 sieve,
Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks;
Your breath with 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;
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
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 worthy prize-
As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that never fortune did-
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
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!
If I get married today, and my choice of wife
is made under the supervision of my will,
my will inspired by my eyes and ears,
two skilful mediators between the dangerous extremes
of will and judgement. How can I get rid of,
even
if my will comes to dislike what it chose,
the wife I selected? There is no way
to dodge around this and to retain one's honour.
We can't return silk to the store keeper
when we have soiled it; nor do we throw leftover food
into the bin without seeing what can be saved,
just because we are full. It was thought fitting
for Paris to take some revenge on the Greeks.
His sails were blown along by the breath of your agreement;
the sea and winds, which usually fight, declared a truce,
and helped him; he landed at the ports he had chosen;
and in return for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
he got a Greek queen, whose youth and freshness
make Apollo look old and wrinkled, and makes the dawn look dull.
Why do we keep her? The Greeks keep our aunt.
Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl
whose price has launched a thousand ships
and made royal Kings into merchants, wanting to buy her.
If you agree that it was right for Paris to go–
as you have to, for you all encouraged him;
if you will admit he brought home a great prize–
as you must, for youall clapped your hands
and cried, ‘incomparable!’–Why do you now
criticise the result of your own wise decisions
and do something that even Fortune never did,
claim that what you once prized more than anything on earth
is now worthless? What a disgraceful theft,
to steal something and then be afraid to keep it!
We are thieves who don't deserve the thing we stole,