Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.o Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.3 Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer: And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun tenance. Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 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 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. 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. 2 A soldier's powder-horn. 3 An ornamental buckle for fastening hat-bands, &c. Boyet. No; he is best endued in the small. 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, A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea I am that flower,— Dum. Long. That mint. 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. 4 Lance-men. 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 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! Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge! Biron. Pompey is moved : -More Ates, more Ates; stir them on! stir them on! Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Årm. 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. 5 Até was the goddess of discord. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge. I 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; go woolward7 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. Enter MERCade. Mer. God save you, madam. 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. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, 7 Clothed in wool, without linen. In your 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: The holy suit which fain it would convince; From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost, 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. Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours |