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

Commander.
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.
Biron. Pompey the Great ---
Cost. Your servant, and Cofiard.

Biron. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alifander.

Cost. O Sir, you have overthrown Alisander 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, Alisander. There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honeft

you,

and soon dash'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth, and a very good bowler; but for Alifander, alas, you see, how 'tis a little o'erparted: but there are Worthies a coming will speak -their mind in some other sort.

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 ferpents in his manus:
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;
Ergo, I come with this apology.
Keep some 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 kisling traitor. How art thou provod

Judas ?
Hol. Judas I am.
Q3

Dumi

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.
Hol. What mean you, Sir?
Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hól. Begin, Sir, 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 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 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,
Duni. 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 coun

tenance.
Kol. 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 dost 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 coines Hector in arms. Dum. Tho' my mocks come home by me, I will

King.

now be merry:

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

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gaye 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.
i Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs
against He&tor.
Dum. Ay, and Hexor'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;
Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
Arm. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.
Dum. He may not, by the yard.
Arm. This.He&tor far surmounted Hannibal.

Coft. The party is gone, fellow He&or, she is gone;
The is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean'st thou?
Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the
Q4

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poor wench is caft away ; she's quick, the child brags in her belly already. 'Tis yours.

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

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

by him.

Duni. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

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

Dum. Hector trembles.

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

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

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

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

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I'll flash; 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 you not see, Pompey is uncaling for the combat: what mean you? you will lose your reputation.

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

my

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

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

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; since when,' I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.

SCENE

S CE N E X.

G

Enter Macard. Mac. OD save you, Madam!

Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interruptest our merriment.

Mac. I'm sorry, Madam, for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your fatherPrin. Dead, for my

life. Mac. Even so: my Tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud.

Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath ;* I have seen the day of right through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.

(Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your Majesty ? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not so; I do beleech you, itay,

Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all

your

fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-fad foul, that

you

vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide,
The liberal opposition of our fpirits ;
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks,
For my great Suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme part of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

* I have seen the days of wrong through the little hole of discretion,] This has no Meaning, we should read, the day of right, i. e. I have foreseen that a Day will come when I shall have Justice donc me, and therefore I prudently reserve myself for that Time.

That,

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