ACHILLES.
Nay, good Ajax.
THERSITES.
Has not so much wit—
ACHILLES.
Nay, I must hold you.
THERSITES.
As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.
ACHILLES.
Peace, fool.
THERSITES.
I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that he; look you there.
AJAX.
O thou damned cur! I shall—
ACHILLES.
Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
THERSITES.
No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.
PATROCLUS.
Good words, Thersites.