Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how:
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.
Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.

[ARMADO converses with the KING, and delivers him a paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain ; too, too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! [Exit ARMADO.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive,

These four will change habits, and present the other five.
Biron. There is five in the first show.

King. You are deceived, 'tis not so.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy :

Abate a throw at novum ;* and the whole world again,
Cannot prickt out five such, take each one in his vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

[Seats brought for the KING, PRINCESS, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worthies.

Enter COSTARD armed, 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 said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with

thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the big,—

Dum. The great.

Cost. is great, Sir;-Pompey surnamed 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.

*Novum quinque, a game with dice.

+ Pick out.

+ Leopard's.

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 best worthy.

Enter NATHANIEL armed, for Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I lived, 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.t

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander. Nath. "When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander ;"

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.
Biron. Pompey the Great,-

Cost. Your servant, and Costárd.

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Cost. O, Sir, [To NATH.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [NATH. retires.] There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth; 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 sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for Judas, and MOTH armed, 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 some state in thy exit, and vanish.

Judas I am,—

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, Sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.

[Exit MOTH.

Biron. A kissing traitor:-How art thou proved Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

*Too straight, not like Alexander's.

In allusion to the "sweet-smelling body," attributed by Plutarch to Alexander. Too great a part for him.

I. e. a jakes.

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 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 Cæsar's faulchion.

Dum. The carved-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 countenance.
Hol. You have put me out of countenance.

Biron. False; we have given thee faces.

Hol. But you have out-faced 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 Machabæus, how hath he been baited!

Enter ARMADO armed, for Hector.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms. Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, † I will now be

merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojant in respect of this.

Boyet. But is this Hector?

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd.

Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small.

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 soldier's powder-horn.

A cant term for a thief.

Turn upon me.
Lancers.

A man so 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 sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet 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, [t the PRINCESS.] bestow on me the sense of hearing.

[BIRON whispers COSTARD.

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 Hector far surmounted Hannibal,

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou?

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd 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. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is moved:-More Atés,* more Atés; stir them 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 flea.

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

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it 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 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.

*The goddess of discord.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both 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 enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dishclout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour. Enter MERCADE.

Mer. God save you, madam!

Prin. Welcome, Mercade;

But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring

Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father

Prin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud.

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

King. How fares your majesty ?

[Exeunt Worthies.

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberalt opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue:
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain❜d.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed;

And often, at his very loose, decides

That which long process could not arbitrate:

And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,

The holy suit which fain it would convince;§
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow jostle it

From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost

Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.

Biron. Honest, plain words best pierce the ear of grief;

And by these badges understand the king.

For your fair sakes have we neglected time,

*Clothed in wool, as penitents.

Last.

Free to excess.

Attain.