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.