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.+

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-jaxt 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 mar; 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 MоTH 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.

+ I. e. a jakes.

§ Too great a part for him

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, [to 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 fatherPrin. 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.

Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested* us to make: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours; the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false
By being once false for ever to be true

To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you,
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,

Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Prin. We have received your letters, full of love;
Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
As courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, and as lining to the time:

But more devout than this, in our respects,

Have we not been; and therefore met your loves

In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Long. So did our looks.

Ros. We did not quotet them so.

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,

Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too short

To make a world-without-end bargain in :
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore this,-
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning:
If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood:
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of our love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,