PATROCLUS.
Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
ACHILLES.
How now, thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?
THERSITES.
Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here’s a letter for thee.
ACHILLES.
From whence, fragment?
THERSITES.
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
PATROCLUS.
Who keeps the tent now?
THERSITES.
The surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.
PATROCLUS.
Well said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?
THERSITES.
Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles’ male varlet.