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Coft. I Pompey am-
Boyet. 3 With Libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big.
Dum. The Great.

Coft. It is Great, Sir; Pompey, surnam'd the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield,

Did make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet Lass of

France.
If your ladyship would say, “ thanks, -- Pompey, I

had done.
Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Coft. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was perfect. I made a little fault in great.

Biron. My hat to a half-penny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's

Commander;
By east, west, north and south, I spread my conquering

might :
My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it

stands too right. Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender

smelling Knight.
Prin. The Conqueror is dismaid: proceed, good

Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's

Commander.

1

3 With Libbard's head on knee.] This alludes to the old heroic habits, which on the knees and shoulders had usually, by way of ornament, the resemblance of a Leopard's or Lion's head.

T 2

Boyet.

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Alifander.
Biron. Pompey the Great,
Coft. Your servant, and Costard.

Biron. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alifander.

Cost. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the Conqueror. [to Nath.] You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the pollax fitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to speak? run away for shame, Alifander. There, an't shall please you ; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and foon dash'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth, and a very good bowler ; but for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis a little o'erparted: but there are Worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other fort.

Biron. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules, Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed

canus ; And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus :
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ;
Ergo, I come with this apology.
Keep fome state in thy Exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth.

Hol. Judas I am.
Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, Sir;
Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor. 'How art thou prov'd

Judas?
Hol. Judas I am.
Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

Hol.

Hol. What mean you, Sir ?
Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hol. Begin, Sir, you are my elder.
Biron. Well followod; Judas was hang'd on an

Elder.
Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.
Hol. What is this?
Boyet. A cittern head.
Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet. The pummel of Cæfar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv’d-bone face on a flask.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer ; And now, forward; for we have put thee in counte

nance.
Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

Boyet. Therefore as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude; nay, why doft thou stay?

Dum. For the latter end of his name.
Biron. For the Ass to the Jude ; give it him. Jud-as,

away. Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas; it grows dark,

he may stumble. Prin. Alas! poor Machabeus, how he hath been baited!

Enter Armado. Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Heator

in arms.

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Dun. Tho' my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Heator?
King. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd,
Long. His leg is too big for Heffor.
Dum. More caif, certain,
Boyet. No; he is best indu'd in the small.
Biron. This can't be HeEtor.
Dum. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty, Gave Hector a gift,

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Biron, A lemon.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight ye

From morn 'till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that Flower.

Dum. That mint.
Long. That cullambine.
Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector. Dum. Ay, and He&or's a grey-hound.

Arm. The sweet War-man is dead and rotten;
Sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the bury'd:
But I will forward with

.my
device

: ; Siweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

Prin. Speak, brave Heator ; we are much delighted,
Arm. I do adore thy sweet Grace's Nipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.
Dum. He may not, by the yard.
Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.
Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone;

Tis yours.

she is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean’ft thou?

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; she's quick, the child brags in her belly already. 'Tis

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou shalt die.

Coft. Then shall Hestor be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron, Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. HeEtor trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd; more Ates, more Ates; ftir them on, stir them on.

Dum. Heator will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north-pole, I do challenge thee.

Coft. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man : I'll slash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.
Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do ye not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat: what mean you ? you will lose your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in

my

shirt. Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Biron. What reason have you for't?

Arme

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