Thers. I say this Ajax wears his wit in’s belly, and his guts in’s brains.

Achil. Peace, fool.

Thers. I would have peace, but the fool will not.

Patro. But what’s the quarrel?

Ajax. I bade him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Thers. I serve thee not.

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Thers. ’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much sense as thou afterwards.  I’ll see you hanged ere I come any more to your tent; I’ll keep where there’s wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
          
                                                   [Going.

Achil. Nay, thou shalt not go, Thersites, till we have squeezed the venom out of thee:  pr’ythee, inform us of this proclamation.

Thers. Why, you empty fuz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else but proclamations.

Ajax. Tell us the news, I say.

Thers. You say! why you never said any thing in all your life.  But, since you will know, it is proclaimed through the army, that Hector is to cudgel you to-morrow.

Achil. How, cudgel him, Thersites!

Thers. Nay, you may take a child’s part on’t if you have so much courage, for Hector has challenged the toughest of the Greeks; and it is in dispute which of your two heads is the soundest timber.  A knotty piece of work he’ll have betwixt your noddles.

Achil. If Hector be to fight with any Greek, He knows his man.

Ajax. Yes; he may know his man without art magic.

Thers. So he had need; for, to my certain knowledge, neither of you two are conjurers to inform him.

Achil. to Ajax. You do not mean yourself, sure?

Ajax. I mean nothing.

Thers. Thou mean’st so always.

Achil. Umh! mean nothing!

Thers. [Aside.] Jove, if it be thy will, let these two fools quarrel about nothing! ’tis a cause that’s worthy of them.

Ajax. You said he knew his man; is there but one?  One man amongst the Greeks?

Achil. Since you will have it, But one to fight with Hector.

Ajax. Then I am he.

Achil. Weak Ajax!

Ajax. Weak Achilles.

Thers. Weak indeed; God help you both!

Patro. Come, this must be no quarrel.

Thers. There’s no cause for’t

Patro. He tells you true, you are both equal.

Thers. Fools.

Achil. I can brook no comparisons.

Ajax. Nor I.

Achil. Well, Ajax.

Ajax. Well, Achilles.

Thers. So, now they quarrel in monosyllables; a word and a blow, an’t be thy will.

Achil. You may hear more.