SCENE IV. Plains between Troy and the Grecian camp. Troilus and Cressida  Shakespeare homepage  |  Troiles and Cressida  | Act 5, Scene 4 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE IV. Plains between Troy and the Grecian camp. 

 Alarums: excursions. Enter THERSITES  THERSITES  Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go 

 look on. That dissembling abominable varlets 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' the 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 worthy 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 

 to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim 

 barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. 

 Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other. 



 Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following  TROILUS  Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, 

 I would swim after. 

 DIOMEDES  Thou dost miscall retire: 

 I do not fly, but advantageous care 

 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: 

 Have at thee! 

 THERSITES  Hold thy whore, Grecian!--now for thy whore, 

 Trojan!--now the sleeve, now the sleeve! 



 Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES, fighting 

 Enter HECTOR  HECTOR  What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match? 

 Art thou of blood and honour? 

 THERSITES  No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave: 

 a very filthy rogue. 

 HECTOR  I do believe thee: live. 



 Exit  THERSITES  God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a 

 plague break thy neck for frightening 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. 



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