Alarum; excursions. Enter Thersites
Now they are clapper-clawing one another;
I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable varlet
Diomed has got that same scurvy doting foolish young
knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain
see them meet, that that same young Trojan ass, that
loves the whore there, might send that Greekish
whore-masterly villain with the sleeve back to the
dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeveless errand.
O'th't' other side, the policy of those crafty-swearing
rascals – that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor,
and that same dog-fox, Ulysses – is not proved
worth a blackberry. They set me up in policy that
mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind,
Achilles; and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur
Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon the Grecians
begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows
into an ill opinion.
Enter Diomedes and Troilus
Soft! Here comes sleeve, and t' other.
Fly not, for shouldst thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.
Thou dost miscall retire;
I do not fly, but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude.
Have at thee.
Hold thy whore, Grecian! Now for thy
whore, Trojan! Now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting
What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match?
Art thou of blood and honour?
No, no, I am a rascal, a scurvy railing knave,
a very filthy rogue.
I do believe thee – live.
God-a-mercy that thou wilt believe me; but
a plague break thy neck – for frighting me! What's
become of the wenching rogues? I think they have
swallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle –
yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them.