Which with my Cemitar Ile coole to morrow:
Patroclus, let vs Feast him to the hight.
Pat.
Heere comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
Achil.
How now, thou core of Enuy?
Thou crusty batch of Nature, what's the newes?
Ther.
Why thou picture of what thou seem'st, & I doll of Ideot-worshippers, here's a Letter for thee.
Achil.
From whence, Fragment?
Ther.
Why thou full dish of Foole, from Troy.
Pat.
Who keepes the Tent now?
Ther.
The Surgeons box, or the Patients wound.
Patr.
Well said aduersity, and what need these tricks?
Ther.
Prythee be silent boy, I profit not by thy talke, thou art thought to be Achilles male Varlot.
Patro.
Male Varlot you Rogue? What's that?
Ther.
Why his masculine Whore. Now the rotten diseases of the South, guts-griping Ruptures, Catarres, Loades a grauell i' th' backe, Lethargies, cold Palsies, and the like, take and take againe, such prepostrous discoue∣ries.
Pat.
Why thou damnable box of enuy thou, what mean'st thou to curse thus?
Patr.
Why no, you ruinous But, you whorson indi∣stinguishable Curre.
Ther.
No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle, immateriall skiene of Sleyd silke; thou greene Sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassell of a Prodigals purse thou:
Ah how the poore world is pestred with such water-flies, diminutiues of Nature.
Ach.
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to morrowes battell:
Heere is a Letter from Queene Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my faire Loue,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keepe
An Oath that I haue sworne. I will not breake it,
Fall Greekes, faile Fame, Honor or go, or stay,
My maior vow lyes heere; this Ile obay:
Come, come Thersites, helpe to trim my Tent,
This night in banquetting must all be spent.
Away Patroclus.
Exit.
Ther.
With too much bloud, and too little Brain, these two may run mad: but if with too much braine, and too little blood, they do, Ile be a curer of madmen. Heere's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loues Quailes, but he has not so much Braine as eare-wax; and the goodly transformation of Iupiter there his Brother, the Bull, the primatiue Statue, and oblique memoriall of Cuckolds, a thrifty shooing-horne in a chaine, hanging at his Brothers legge, to what forme but that he is, shold wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turne him too: to an Asse were nothing; hee is both Asse and Oxe; to an Oxe were nothing, hee is both Oxe and Asse: to be a Dogge, a Mule, a Cat, a Fitchew, a Toade, a Li∣zard, an Owle, a Puttocke, or a Herring without a Roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against Destiny. Aske me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites: sot I care not to bee the lowse of a Lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hoy-day, spirits and fires.
Enter Hector, Aiax, Agamemnon, Vlysses, Ne∣stor, Diomed, with Lights.
Aga.
We go wrong, we go wrong.
Aiax.
No yonder'tis, there where we see the light.
Enter Achilles.
Vlys.
Heere comes himselfe to guide you?
Achil.
Welcome braue Hector, welcome Princes all.
Agam.
So now faire Prince of Troy, I bid goodnight,
Aiax commands the guard to tend on you.
Hect.
Thanks, and goodnight to the Greeks general.
Hect.
Goodnight sweet Lord Menelaus.
Ther.
Sweet draught: sweet quoth-a? sweet sinke, sweet sure.
Achil.
Goodnight and welcom, both at once, to those that go, or tarry.
Achil.
Old Nestor tarries, and you too Diomed,
Keepe Hector company an houre, or two.
Dio.
I cannot Lord, I haue important businesse,
The tide whereof is now, goodnight great Hector.
Ʋlys.
Follow his Torch, he goes to Chalcas Tent,
Ile keepe you company.
Troy.
Sweet sir, you honour me.
Achil.
Come, come, enter my Tent.
Exeunt.
Ther.
That same Diomed's a false-hearted Rogue, a most vniust Knaue; I will no more trust him when hee leeres, then I will a Serpent when he hisses: he will spend his mouth & promise, like Brabler the Hound; but when he performes, Astronomers foretell it, that it is prodigi∣ous, there will come some change; the Sunne borrowes of the Moone when Diomed keepes his word. I will ra∣ther leaue to see Hector, then not to dogge him: they say, he keepes a Troyan Drab, and vses the Traitour Chalcas his Tent. Ile after—Nothing but Letcherie? All incontinent Varlets.
Exeunt
Enter Diomed.
Dio.
What are you vp here ho? speake?
Dio.
Diomed, Chalcas (I thinke) wher's you Daughter?
Enter Troylus and Vlisses.
Vlis.
Stand where the Torch may not discouer vs.
Enter Cressid.
Troy.
Cressid comes forth to him.
Cres.
Now my sweet gardian: harke a word with you.
Vlis.
She will sing any man at first sight.
Ther.
And any man may finde her, if he can take her life: she's noted.
Dio.
Nay, but doe then; and let your minde be cou∣pled with your words.
Troy.
What should she remember?
Cres.
Sweete hony Greek, tempt me no more to folly.
Dio.
Fo, fo, come tell a pin, you are a forsworne.—
Cres.
In faith I cannot: what would you haue me do?
Ther.
A iugling tricke, to be secretly open.
Dio.
What did you sweare you would bestow on me?
Cres.
I prethee do not hold me to mine oath,
Bid me doe not any thing but that sweete Greeke.