ACHILLES.
I know that, fool.
THERSITES.
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
AJAX.
Therefore I beat thee.
THERSITES.
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.
ACHILLES.
What?
THERSITES.
I say this Ajax—
[Ajax offers to strike him.]
ACHILLES.
Nay, good Ajax.
THERSITES.
Has not so much wit—
ACHILLES.
Nay, I must hold you.