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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, Alifander.
Biron. Pompey the Great,-

Coft. Your fervant, and Coftard.

Biron. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alifander.

Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the Gonqueror. [to Nath.] You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll ́ax fitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to fpcak? run away for fhame, Alifander. There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honeft man, look you, and foon dafh'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.

Biron. Stand afide, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth 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 serpents in his manus: Quoniam, he feemeth 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 Ifcariot, Sir;

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A killing traitor.

Judas?

Hol. Judas I am.

How art thou prov'd

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Dum. The more fhame for you, Judas.
Hol. What mean you, Sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hol. 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 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, scarce feen. Boyet. The pummel of Cafar's faulchion.

Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.

Biron. St. George's half check 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 coun

tenance.

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 ass, let him go.

And fo adieu, fweet Jude; nay, why doft thou flay? 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. Boyet. A light for monfieur Judas; it grows dark, he may ftumble.

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

Enter Armado.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hector

in arms.

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

King.

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King. Hector was but a Trojan in refpect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?

King. 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 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 fo 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 muft rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.

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

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Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing. 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.

Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone; fhe is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean'ft thou?

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the

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poor

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.

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

Dum. Moft 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; stir them on, ftir them on.

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will fup 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 flafh; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthies.
Coft. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Moft refolute Pompey!

Moth. Mafter, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not fee, Pompey is uncafing for the combat: what mean you? you will lofe 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 both may and will.
Biron. What reafon have you fort?

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

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

SCENE

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Mac. OD fave you, Madam!

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J Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft our merriment.

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

Mac. Even fo: 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 foldier. [Exeunt Worthies.

King. How fares your Majefty?

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, stay, Prin. Prepare, I fay.-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 oppofition of our spirits; 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: Excufe me fo, coming fo fhort of thanks, For my great Suit fo cafily obtain'd.

King. The extreme part of time extremely forms All caufes to the purpofe of his speed;

And often, at his very loofe, decides

*I have feen the days of wrong through the little hole of difcretion,] This has no Meaning, we fhould read, the day of right, i. e. I have foreseen that a Day will come when I fhall have Juftice done me, and therefore I prudently referve myself for that Time.

That,

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