Troilus and Cressida 5.1: 33
With too much blood and too little brain, these two may run mad, but, if with too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of madmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother’s leg — to what form but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice fac’d with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing, he is both ass and ox; to an ox, were nothing, he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a moile, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lezard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be if I were not Thersites, for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! Sprites and fires!