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Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
elder, Hol. I will not be put out of countenance. Biron. Because thou hast no face. Hol. What is this? Boyet. A cittern head. Dům. 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 carv'd-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 counte,
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.
u have pe have bed them ould do
6- on a flask.) i. e. a soldier's powder-horn.
· St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.) A brooch is an ornamental buckle, for fastening hat-bands, girdles, mantles, &c.
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 Trojano in respect of this.
Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al
mighty, Gave Hector a gift,
Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower,
8 Hector was but a Trojan -] A Trojan was, in the time of Shakspeare, a cant term for a thief.
9 of lances -] i. e, of lance-men.
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
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 poten
tates? 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; 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.
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.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolwards 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.
Mer. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
| More Ates;] That is, more instigation. Ate was the mischievous goddess that incited bloodshed.
— like a northern man;] Vir Borealis, a clown. s w oolward -] To go woolward was a phrase appropriated to pilgrims and penitentiaries.
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father
Prin. Dead, for my life.
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.
[Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? 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
4 liberal - Free to excess.
* In the converse of breath,] Perhaps converse may, in this line, mean interchange.
And often, at his very loose, decides, &c.] At his very loose, may mean, at the moment of his parting, i, e, of his getting loose, or away from us.