foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis ;-a little o'er parted:-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other'sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth arm'd, for Hercules.

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. A Judas!

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 is manus: Quoniam, he seemeth in minority; Ergo, I come with this apology:Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

[Exit Moth.

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor:-How art thou prov'd

Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

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

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkia.

elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.

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 broocht.
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

nance.

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

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.

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

A soldier's powder-horn.

✦ An ornamental-buckle for fastening hat-bands, &c.

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 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,

* Lance-men.

the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonise 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!

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 mant; 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.

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 wool ward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome

† A clown.

Até was the goddess of discord. Clothed in wool, without linen. VOL. II.

M

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!

Prin. Wecome, 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. [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 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

* Free to excess.