Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band: Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch). William Shakespeare
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O thou damned cur! I shall—
ACHILLES.
Will you set your wit to a fool’s?
THERSITES.
No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it.
PATROCLUS.
Good words, Thersites.
ACHILLES.
What’s the quarrel?
AJAX.
I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
THERSITES.
I serve thee not.
AJAX.
Well, go to, go to.
THERSITES.
I serve here voluntary.
ACHILLES.
Your last service was suff’rance; ‘twas not voluntary. No man is beaten voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
THERSITES.
E’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch an he knock out either of your brains: ‘a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
ACHILLES.
What, with me too, Thersites?
THERSITES.
There’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
ACHILLES.
What, what?
THERSITES.
Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to—
AJAX.
I shall cut out your tongue.
THERSITES.
‘Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.
PATROCLUS.
No more words, Thersites; peace!
THERSITES.
I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I?
ACHILLES.
There’s for you, Patroclus.
THERSITES.
I will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents. I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
[Exit.]
PATROCLUS.
A good riddance.
ACHILLES.
Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host,
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
Will with a trumpet ‘twixt our tents and Troy,
Tomorrow morning, call some knight to arms
That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what; ‘tis trash. Farewell.
AJAX.
Farewell. Who shall answer him?
ACHILLES.
I know not; ‘tis put to lott’ry. Otherwise. He knew his man.
AJAX.
O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it.
[Exeunt.]
German
SCENE II
Troy. PRIAM’S palace
[Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS.]
PRIAM.
After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else—
As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d
In hot digestion of this cormorant war—
Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t?
HECTOR.
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as toucheth my particular,
Yet, dread Priam,
There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call’d
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Every tithe soul ‘mongst many thousand dismes
Hath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours.
If we have lost so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten,
What merit’s in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up?
TROILUS.
Fie, fie, my brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father’s, in a scale
Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of his infinite,
And buckle in a waist most fathomless
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame!
HELENUS.
No marvel though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none that tells him so?
TROILUS.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons:
You know an enemy intends you harm;
You know a sword employ’d is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect