fering from mankind,
Hates all he sees, and rails at all he knows;
But hates them most from whom he most receives,
Disdaining that his lot should be so low,
That he should want the kindness which he takes.

_Nest._ There's none so fit an engine:--Save ye, Thersites.

_Ulys._ Hail, noble Grecian! thou relief of toils,
Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war,
In whose converse our winter nights are short,
And summer days not tedious.

_Thers._ Hang you both.

_Nest._ How, hang us both!

_Thers._ But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool!
Thou sapless oak, that liv'st by wanting thought,
And now, in thy three hundredth year, repin'st
Thou shouldst be felled: hanging's a civil death,
The death of men; thou canst not hang; thy trunk
Is only fit for gallows to hang others.

_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._ H