Ajax. If I go to him, with my armed fist
I’ll pash him o’er the face.
Agam. O, no, you shall not go.
Ajax. An ’a be proud with me, I’ll pheese his pride.
Let me go to him.
Ulys. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry insolent fellow!
Nest. How he describes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be sociable?
Ulys. The raven chides blackness.