Achil. What's the quarrel?
Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the[1299]
proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not. 90
Ajax. Well, go to, go to.
Ther. I serve here voluntary.
Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not voluntary;
no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was here the
voluntary, and you as under an impress. 95
Ther. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in[1300]
your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a
great catch, if he knock out either of your brains: a' were[1301]
as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
Achil. What, with me too, Thersites? 100
Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose wit was
mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, yoke[1302]
you like draught-oxen, and make you plough up the wars.[1303]
Achil. What? what?