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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 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
Enter Armado arm’d, 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 Trojan in respect of this.
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.
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
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, [to the Princess,] bestow on me the sense of hearing.
[Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de
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!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd:-More Ates, more Ates 61; 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.
Cast. 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.
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 bath made the challenge.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward 62 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 dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour.
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father
Prin. Dead, for my life.
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.
[Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. VOL. III.
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 liberal 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 justle it From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, As to rejoice at friends bnt newly found.
Prin. I understood you not; my griefs are double. Biron. Honest plain words '3 best pierce the ear of
grief;— And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,