William Shakespeare - Sämtliche Werke von Shakespeare in einem Band - Zweisprachige Ausgabe (Deutsch-Englisch)

Were he not proud, we all should wear with him;

But he already is too insolent;

And it were better parch in Afric sun

Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,

Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d,

Why, then we do our main opinion crush

In taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry;

And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw

The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves

Give him allowance for the better man;

For that will physic the great Myrmidon,

Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall

His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.

If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,

We’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail,

Yet go we under our opinion still

That we have better men. But, hit or miss,

Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes—

Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes.

NESTOR.

Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice;

And I will give a taste thereof forthwith

To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight.

Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone

Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ‘twere their bone.

[Exeunt.]

German

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Table of Contents

The Grecian camp

[Enter Ajax and THERSITES.]

AJAX.

Thersites!

THERSITES.

Agamemnon—how if he had boils full, an over, generally?

AJAX.

Thersites!

THERSITES.

And those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not that a botchy core?

AJAX.

Dog!

THERSITES.

Then there would come some matter from him;

I see none now.

AJAX.

Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.

[Strikes him.]

THERSITES.

The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!

AJAX.

Speak, then, thou whinid’st leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness.

THERSITES.

I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks!

AJAX.

Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

THERSITES.

Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

AJAX.

The proclamation!

THERSITES.

Thou art proclaim’d, a fool, I think.

AJAX.

Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.

THERSITES.

I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

AJAX.

I say, the proclamation.

THERSITES.

Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and

thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at

Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that thou bark’st at him.

AJAX.

Mistress Thersites!

THERSITES.

Thou shouldst strike him.

AJAX.

Cobloaf!

THERSITES.

He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

AJAX.

You whoreson cur!

[Strikes him.]

THERSITES.

Do, do.

AJAX.

Thou stool for a witch!

THERSITES.

Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to thrash Troyans, and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!

AJAX.

You dog!

THERSITES.

You scurvy lord!

AJAX.

You cur!

[Strikes him.]

THERSITES.

Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

[Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS.]

ACHILLES.

Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?

How now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man?

THERSITES.

You see him there, do you?

ACHILLES.

Ay; what’s the matter?

THERSITES.

Nay, look upon him.

ACHILLES.

So I do. What’s the matter?

THERSITES.

Nay, but regard him well.

ACHILLES.

Well! why, so I do.

THERSITES.

But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

ACHILLES.

I know that, fool.

THERSITES.

Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

AJAX.

Therefore I beat thee.

THERSITES.

Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax—who wears his wit in his belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him.

ACHILLES.

What?

THERSITES.

I say this Ajax—

[AJAX offers to strike him.]

ACHILLES.

Nay, good Ajax.

THERSITES.

Has not so much wit—

ACHILLES.

Nay, I must hold you.

THERSITES.

As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight.

ACHILLES.

Peace, fool.

THERSITES.

I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that he; look you there.

AJAX.

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

Table of Contents

Troy. PRIAM’S palace