fay, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace

most royal couplement!

of mind,

[Exit ARMADO. KING. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the fwain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their firft fhow thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five. BIRON. There is five in the firft fhow.

KING. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not fo.

BIRON. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-prieft, the fool, and the boy :—

Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world again, Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein. KING. The ship is under fail, and here fhe comes amain. [Seats brought for the KING, PRINCESS, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worthies.

Enter COSTARD arm'd, for POMPEY.

COST. I Pompey am,――

BOYET. You lie, you are not he.

COST. I Pompey am,

BOYET. With libbard's head on knee.

BIRON. Well faid, old mocker; I muft needs be friends

with thee.

COST. I Pompey am, Pompey furnam'd the big,—

DUM. The great.

COST. It is great, fir;-Pompey furnam'd the great ; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to

fweat:

And, travelling along this coaft, I here am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this fweet lafs of France. If your ladyship would fay Thanks, Pompey, I had done. PRIN. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. '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 beft worthy.

Enter NATHANIEL arm'd for ALEXANDER,

NATH. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;

By east, weft, north, and fouth, I fpread my conquering might: My 'fcutcheon plain declares, that I am Alifander.

BorET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands

too right.

BIRON. Your nose smells, no, in this, moft tender-fmelling knight.

[ander. PRIN. The conqueror is difmay'd: Proceed, good AlexNATH. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ;

BOYET. Most true, 'tis right; you were fo, Alifander. BIRON. Pompey the great,

COST. Your fervant, and Costárd.

BIRON. Take away the conqueror, take away

Alifander.

COST. O, fir, [TO NATH.] you have overthrown Alifander the conqueror! You will be fcraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax fitting on a close-ftool, will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for fhame, Alifander. [NATH. retires.] 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, infooth; and a very good bowler; but, for Alifander, alas, you fee, how 'tis ;-a little o'erparted :-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in fome other fort.

PRIN. Stand afide, good Pompey.

VOL. II.

F

Enter HOLOFERNES arm'd, for JUDAS, and MOTH arm'd, for HERCULES.

HoL. Great Hercules is prefented by this imp,
Whofe club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus;
And, when he was a babe, a child, a fhrimp,

Thus did he ftrangle ferpents in his manus:

Quoniam, he feemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.—

Keep fome ftate in thy exit, and vanish.

[Exit Моти:

HOL. Judas I am,—

DUM. A Judas!

HOL. Not Ifcariot, fir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

DUM. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
BIRON. A kiffing traitor:-How art thou prov'd Judas?
HOL. Judas I am,-

DUM. The more fhame for

HOL. What mean you, fir?

you, Judas.

BOYET. To make Judas hang himself.

HOL. Begin, fir; you are my elder.

BIRON. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an elder.

HOL. I will not be put out of countenance.

BIRON. Because thou haft 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, fcarce feen.

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.

DUм. 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 countenance. 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 fo. BOYET. Therefore, as he is, an afs, let him go. And fo adieu, fweet Jude! nay, why doft thou stay? DUM. For the latter end of his name.

BIRON. For the afs to the Jude; give it him:-Jud-as,

away.

HOL. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. BorET. A light for monfieur Judas: it grows dark, he ftumble.

may

PRIN. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited! Enter ARMADO arm'd, for HECTOR.

BIRON. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in [be merry.

arms.

DUM. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now KING. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. BOYET. But is this Hector?

DUM. I think, Hector was not fo clean-timber'd.

LONG. His leg is too big for Hector.

DUM. More calf, certain.

BOYET. No; he is beft indued in the fmall.

BIRON. This cannot be Hector.

DUM. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

ARM. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, gave Hector a gift.

DUM. A gilt nutmeg.

BIRON. A lemon.

LONG. Stuck with cloves.

DUM. No, cloven.

ARM. Peace!

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ;

A man fo breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea,
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that flower,—

DUM. That mint.

LONG. That columbine.

ARM. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
LONG. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against
Hector.

DUM. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

ARM. The fweet war-man is dead and rotten; fweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the PRINCESS.] bestow on me the fenfe of hearing. [BIRON whispers COSTARD. PRIN. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. ARM. I do adore thy fweet grace's flipper. BOYET Loves her by the foot.

DUM. He may not by the yard.

ARM. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.—

COST. The party is gone,

fellow Hector, she is gone;

fhe is two months on her way.

ARM. What meaneft thou?

COST. Faith, unless you play the honeft Trojan, the poor wench is caft away: fhe's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

ARM. Doft thou infamonize me among potentates ? thou fhalt die.

COST. Then fhall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.

DUM. Moft rare Pompey!