But young Patroclus leads his Myrmidons,
And in their front, even in the face of Hector,
Resolves to dare the Trojans.

_Agam._ Haste, Ulysses, bid Ajax issue forth and second him.

_Ulys._ Oh noble general, let it not be so.
Oppose not rage, while rage is in its force,
But give it way awhile, and let it waste.
The rising deluge is not stopt with dams;
Those it o'erbears, and drowns the hopes of harvest;
But, wisely managed, its divided strength
Is sluiced in channels, and securely drained.
First, let small parties dally with their fury;
But when their force is spent and unsupplied,
The residue with mounds may be restrained,
And dry-shod we may pass the naked ford.

_Enter_ THERSITES.

_Thers._ Ho, ho, ho!

_Menel._ Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool?

_Thers._ Why, thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou
thinkest he makes horns at thee? Thou prince of the herd, what hast
thou to do with laughing? 'Tis the prerogative of a man, to laugh.
Thou risibility without reason, thou subject of laughter, thou fool
royal!

_Ulys._ But tell us the occasion of thy mirth?

_Thers._ Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own
kind.--Why, the enemies are broken into our trenches; fools like
Menelaus fall by thousands yet not a human soul departs on either
side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off, but
are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon,
and Hector Patroclus, so there is a towardly springing fop gone off;
he might have made a prince one day, but now he's nipt in the very bud
and promise of a most prodigious coxcomb.

_Agam._ Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles;
Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid.
The alarm sounds near, and shouts are driven upon us,
As of a crowd confused in their retreat.

_Ulys._ Open your ranks, and make these madmen way,
Then close again to charge upon their backs,
And quite consume the relics of the war. [_Exeunt all but_ THERSITES.

_Thers._ What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away! How it purges
families of younger brothers, highways of robbers, and cities of
cuckold-makers! There is nothing like a pitched battle for these brisk
addle-heads! Your physician is a pretty fellow, but his fees make him
tedious, he rides not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their
horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker remedy,
but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men