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.
295 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!