Enter Therfites. Achil. How now, thou core of envy? Ther. Why, thou full difh of fool, from Troy. Ther. The furgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well faid, adverfity; and what need these tricks? Ther. Pr'ythee, be filent, boy, I profit not by thy talk; thou art thought to be Achilles's male-varlet. Patr. Male-varlet, you rogue? what's that? Ther. Why, his mafculine whore. Now the rotten difeafes of the fouth, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palfies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders fult of impofthume, fciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurable bone-ach, and the rivell'd fee-fimple of the tetter, take and take again fuch prepofterous dif coveries. Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meaneft thou to curfe thus ? Ther. Do I curfe thee? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorfon indiftinguishable cur. Ther. No? why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immaterial skein of fley'd filk, thou green farcenet flap for a fore eye, thou taffel of a prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pester'd with fuch water-flies, diminutives of Nature. Patr. Out, gall! Ther Finch-egg! Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to morrow's battle: Here Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, An oath that I have fworn. I will not break it, [Ex. Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, these two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honeft fellow enough, and one hat loves quails, but he hath not fo much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive ftatue, and obelisque memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty fhooing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg; to 1 A token from her daughter &c.]This is a circumstance taken from the ftory-book of the three deftructions of Troy. Oxford Editor. 2 And the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive fatue, and OBLIQUE memorial of cuckolds] He calls Menelaus the transformation of Jupiter, that is, as himself explains it, the bull, on account of his horns, which he had as a cuckold. This cuckold he calls the primitive ftatue of cuckolds; i. e. his story had made him fo famous, that he ftood as the great archetype of this character. But how was he an oblique memorial of cuckolds? can any thing be a more direc memorial of cuckolds, than a cuckold? and fo the foregoing character of his being the primitive ftatue of them plainly implies. To reconcile these two contradictory epithets therefore we should read, and OBELISQUE memorial of cuckolds. He is reprefented as one who would remain an eternal monument of his wife's infidelity. And how could this be better done than by calling him an obelifque memorial? of all human edifices the moft durable. And the fentence rifes gradually, and properly from a ftatue to an obelifque. To this the editor Mr. Theobald replies, that the bull is called the primitive ftatue; by which he only VO L. VII. giveth Hh to what form, but that he is, fhould wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him? to an afs were nothing, he is both afs and ox; to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and afs; to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would confpire against Destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Therfites; for I care not, to be the lowfe of a lazar, fo I were not Menelaus Hey-day, fpirits and fires! Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, and Diomede, with lights. Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. No, yonder 'tis; there, where we fee the light. Helt. I trouble you. Ajax. No, not a whit. Enter Achilles. Uly. Here comes himself to guide you. Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. Aga. So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night. Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you. Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks Men. Good night, my lord. giveth us to understand, that he knoweth not the difference between the English articles a and the. But by the bull is meant Menelaus; which title Therfites gives him again afterwards-The cuckold and the cuckold- maker are at it-THE BULL has the game.-But the Oxford Editor makes quicker work with the term oblique, and alters it to antique, and fo all the difficulty's evaded. Helt. Good night, fweet lord Menelaus. Ther. Sweet draught-fweet, quoth afweet fink, fweet fewer. Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once, to That go or tarry. Aga. Good night. Achil. Old Neftor tarries, and you too, Diomede, Keep Hector company an hour or two. Dio. I cannot, lord, I have important business, The tide whereof is now; good night, great Hector. Het. Give me your hand. Ulyf. Follow his torch, he goes to Calchas' tent: I'll keep you company. Troi. Sweet Sir, you honour me. Helt. And fo, good night. Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. [To Troilus. [Exeunt. Ther. That fame Diomede's a falfe-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave: I will no more truft him when he leers, than I will a ferpent when he hiffes: he will fpend his mouth and promife, like Brabler the hound; but when he performs, aftronomers, foretel it, that it is prodigious, there will come fome change: the Sun borrows of the Moon, when Diomede keeps his word. I will rather leave to fee Hector, than not to dog him: they fay, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas his tent. I'll afterI'll after-Nothing but letchery; [Exeunt. all incontinent varlets. Dio. WHAT are you up here, ho? speak. Who calls? Dio. Diomede; Calchas I think; where's your daughter? Cal. She comes to you. Enter Troilus and Ulyffes, after them Therfites. Ulyf. Stand where the torch may not discover us. Enter Creffida. Troi. Crefid come forth to him? Dio. How now, my charge? Cre. Now, my fweet guardian; hark, a word with you. Troi. Yea, fo familiar? [Whispers. Ulyf. She will fing to any man at first fight. Ther. And any man may fing to her, if he can take her cliff. She's noted. Dio. Will you remember? Cre. Remember; yes. Dio. Nay, but do then; and let your mind be coupled with your words. Troi. What fhould fhe remember? Ulys. Lift, Cre. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. Ther. Roguery Dio. Nay, then Cre. I'll tell you what. Dio. Pho! pho! come, tell a pin, you are a forfworn Cre. In faith, I can't: what would you have me do? Ther. A jugling trick, to be fecretly open. Dio. What did you fwear you would beftow on me? Cre. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath; Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. Dio. Good night. Troi. Hold, patience Ulys. How now, Trojan? Cre. Diomede, Dio. No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more. Troi. |