Achil. Peace, fool.
Thers. I would have peace, but the fool will not.
299 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.