Nest. A fine greeting.

Thers. A fine old dotard, to repine at hanging
At such an age! what saw the Gods in thee,
That a cock-sparrow should but live three years,
And thou shouldst last three ages? he’s thy better;
He uses life; he treads himself to death. 
Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years. 
Thou stump of man, thou worn-out broom, thou lumber!

Nest. I’ll hear no more of him, his poison works; What, curse me for my age!

Ulys. Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; ’tis his custom: 
What malice is there in a mirthful scene? 
’Tis but a keen-edged sword, spread o’er with balm,
To heal the wound it makes.

Thers. Thou beg’st a curse? 
May’st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor,
Who hangs on thee! thou lead’st him by the nose;
Thou play’st him like a puppet; speak’st within him;
And when thou hast contrived some dark design,
To lose a thousand Greeks, make dogs-meat of us,
Thou lay’st thy cuckoo’s egg within his nest,
And mak’st him hatch it; teachest his remembrance
To lie, and say, the like of it was practised
Two hundred years ago; thou bring’st the brain,
And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots.

Nest. I’m no man’s fool.

Thers. Then be thy own, that’s worse.

Nest. He’ll rail all day.

Ulys. Then we shall learn all day. 
Who forms the body to a graceful carriage,
Must imitate our aukward motions first;
The same prescription does the wise Thersites
Apply, to mend our minds.  The same he uses
To Ajax, to Achilles, to the rest;
His satires are the physic of the camp.

Thers. Would they were poison to’t, ratsbane and hemlock!  Nothing else can mend you, and those two brawny fools.

Ulys. He hits ’em right; Are they not such, my Nestor?

Thers. Dolt-heads, asses,
And beasts of burden; Ajax and Achilles! 
The pillars, no, the porters of the war. 
Hard-headed rogues! engines, mere wooden engines
Pushed on to do your work.

Nest. They are indeed.

Thers. But what a rogue art thou, To say they are indeed!  Heaven made them horses, And thou put’st on their harness, rid’st and spurr’st them; Usurp’st upon heaven’s fools, and mak’st them thine.

Nest. No; they are headstrong fools, to be corrected
By none but by Thersites; thou alone
Canst tame and train them to their proper use;
And, doing this, may’st claim a just reward
From Greece and royal Agamemnon’s hands.

Thers. Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving,
For wit’s a dear commodity among you;
But when you do not want him, then stale porridge,
A starved dog would not lap, and furrow water,
Is all the wine we taste:  give drabs and pimps;
I’ll have no gifts with hooks at end of them.