[To Boyet.

Following the figns, woo'd but the fign of she:
Now to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forfworn; in will, and error.
Much upon this it is.-And might not you
Foreftal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my Lady's foot by th' fquire,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye,
And ftand between her back, Sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jefting merrily?

You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
Die when you will, a fmock shall be your fhrowd.
You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden fword.

Boyet. Full merrily

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting ftrait. Peace, I have done.

Enter Coftard.

Welcome, pure wit, thou parteft a fair fray.
Coft. O Lord, Sir, they would know
Whether the three worthies fhall come in, or no.

Bir on. What, are there but three?
Coft. No, Sir, but it is vera fine;
For every one pursents three.

Biron. And three times three is nine?

Coft. Not fo, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope it is not fo.

You cannot beg us, Sir; I can affure you, Sir, we know what we know: I hope three times thrice, SirBiron. Is not nine?

Coft. Under correction, Sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Coft. O Lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, Sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Coft. O Lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am, as they fay, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cof

Coft. It pleafed them to think me worthy of Pompion the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him.

Biron. Go bid them prepare.

Caft. We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take fome care.

Kirg. Biron, they will fhame us; let them not approach. [Exit Coft. Biron. We are fhame-proof, my Lord; and 'tis fome policy

To have one fhow worfe than the King's and his comKing. I fay, they fhall not come.

[pany.
Prin. Nay, my good Lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That fport beft pleases, that doth leaft know how.
Where zeal ftrives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of that which it presents;

Their form, confounded, makes moft form in mirth;
When great things, labouring, perish in their birth.
Biron. A right defcription of our sport, my Lord.

SCENE IX. Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore fo much expence of thy Royal fweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. Prin. Doth this man ferve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He fpeaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, honey monarch; for, I protest, the fchoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as they fay, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, moft Royal couplement.

King. Here is like to be a good prefence of worthies: He prefents Hector of Troy; the fwain, Pompey the Great; the parifh-curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabeus.

And if these four worthies in their firft show thrive,
Thefe four will change habits, and prefent the other five.
Biron. There are five in the firft fhow.

King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not fo.

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy.

A

A bare throw at novum, and the whole world again
Cannot prick out five fuch, take each one in's vein.
King. The fhip is under fail, and here she comes a-
main.

Enter Coflard for Pompey.

Cof. I Pompey am—

Boyet. You lie, you are not he.

Coft. I Pompey am

Boyet. With Libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well faid, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

Coft. I Pompey am, Pompey furnam'd the Big.

Dum. The Great.

Coft. It is Great, Sir; Pompey, furnam'd the Great; That oft in field, with targe and fhield,

Did make my foe to fweat:

And travelling along this coaft, I here am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lafs of France. If your Ladyfhip would fay, "Thanks,-Pompey, I had done.

Prin. Great thanks, Great Pompey.

Coft. 'Tis not fo much worth; but I hope was per1 made a little fault in great.

fect.

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;

By east, weft, north and fouth, I spread my conquering might:

My 'fcutcheon plain declares, that I am Alifander.

Boyet. Your nofe fays, no, you are not; for it ftands too right.

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, moft tender-fmelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is difmaid: proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's

commander.

Boyet. Moft true, 'tis right; you were fo, Alifander.

VOL. II.

S

Biron

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alifander.

Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the conqueror. [To Nath.] You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll-ax fitting on a clofe-ftool, will be given to A-jax *; he will be then the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afraid to speak? run away for fhame, Alifander. There, an't fhall please you; a foolish mild man; an honeft man, look you, and foon dafh'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, infooth, and a very good bowler; but for Alifander, alas, you fee, how 'tis a little o'erparted: but there are worthies a-coming will speak their mind in fome other fort.

Biron. Stand afide, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is prefented by this imp, Whofe club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed cauis; And when he was a babe, a child, a fhrimp,

Thus did he ftrangle ferpents in his manus

Quoniam he feemeth in minority,

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir;

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

[Exit Moth

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kiffing traitor. How art thou prov❜d Judas?

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. The more fhame for you, Judas.

Hol. What mean you, Sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, Sir, you are my elder.

Biron.

*A ridicule upon the arms given to Alexander in the hiftory of the nine worthies; and it ends in a wretched quibble upon the words Ajax and A jakes.

Biron. Well follow'd; Judas was hang'd on an elder. Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron. Because thou haft 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, fcarce feen.
Boyet. The pummel of Cæfar's faulchion.

Dum. The carv'd bone face on a flafk.
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. Falfe; we have given thee faces.

Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do fo.
Boyet. Therefore as he is an afs, let him go.

And fo adieu, fweet Jude; nay, why doft thou ftay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

Biron. For the afs to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as,

away.

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for Monfieur Judas; it grows dark, he may ftumble.

Prin. Alas! poor Machabeus, how he hath been baited!

Enter Armado.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hector

in arms.

Dum. Tho' my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan in refpect of this.
Boyt. But is this Hector?

King. I think, Hector was not fo clean-timber'd.

Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is beft endu'd in the fmall.

S 2

Biron.