Much upon this it is :-And might not you,

[To Boyet.

Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire*,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?

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

Boyet.

Full merrily

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

Enter Costard.

Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray.
Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know,

Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no.
Biron. What, are there but three.

but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

Biron.

+

And three times thrice is nine.

Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope,

it is not so:

You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we

know what we know:

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,

Is not nine.

Biron. Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for

nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir.

Biron. How much is it?

• Rule.

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man, e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased 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.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take

some care.

[Exit Costard. King. Birón, they will shame us, let them not

approach.

Biron. We are shamne-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his company.

King. I say, they shall not come.

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you

now;

That sport best pleases, that doth least know how:
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper.]

Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too, vain; too, too vain: But

Act . we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Erit Armado.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.
King, You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

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

Abate a throw at novum*; and the whole world

again,

Cannot prickt out five such, take each one in his

vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

[Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c.

Pageant of the Nine Worthies.

Enter Costard arm'd, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,

Boyet.

Cost. I Pompey am,
Boyet.

You lie, you are not he.

With libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be

friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,-
Dum. The great.

Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the

great;

That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat;

And, travelling along this coast, I here am come

by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I

had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. "Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect; I made a little fault in, great.

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

Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, 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 tendersmelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander.

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

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Ali. sander..

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-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax; 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 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 'cis ;-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 arm'd, for Judas, and Moth arm'd, 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 is manus: Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.-

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. A Judas!

[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

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.