AJAX.
Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness.
THERSITES.
I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!
AJAX.
Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
THERSITES.
Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?
AJAX.
The proclamation!
THERSITES.
Thou art proclaim’d fool, I think.
AJAX.
Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.
THERSITES.
I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.
AJAX.
I say, the proclamation.
THERSITES.
Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that thou bark’st at him.