The ladies did change favours, and then we,
Following the figns, woo'd but the fign of fhe:
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 [To Boyet.
Foreftal our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my Lady's foot by th' squier,
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.
Biron. What, are there but three?
Coft. No, Sir, but it is vara 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 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?

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 ftand for him.

Biron. Go bid them prepare.

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

King. 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 how 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 Dies in the zeal of that which it prefents; Their form, confounded, makes moft form in mirth; When great things, labouring, perish in their birth, Biron. A right description 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 afk you?

Prin. He fpeaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, honey monarch ; for, I proteft, the fchoolmafter is exceeding fantaftical; 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 coupplement.

King. Here is like to be a good presence 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 thefe four worthies in their firft fhow thrive, Thefe four will change habits, and prefent the other Biron. There are five in the firft fhow.

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

[five,

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

VOL. II.

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 fhe comes amain.

Enter Coftard for Pompey.

Coft. I Pompey am

Boyet. You lye, you are not he.

Coft. I Pompey am

Boyet. With Libbard's head on knee.

Biron. Well faid, old mocker: I muft 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,

Ďid make my foe to fweat

And travelling along this coaft, Ihere am come by chance: And lay my arms before the legs of this fweet lafs of

France.

If your Ladyship would fay,

had done.

"Thanks,-Pompey, I

Prin. Great thanks, Great Pompey.

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

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

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.

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

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

My 'fcutheon plain declares, that I am Alifander. Boyet. Your nofe fays, no, you are not; for it stands too right..

Biron, Your nofe fmells, no, in this, moft tenderfmelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is difmay'd: proceed, good
Alexander.

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

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

Biron. Pompey the Great,

Coft. Your fervant, and Coftard.

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alifander.

Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the conqueror. [To Nath.] You will be fcraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll-ax fitting on a close-stool, 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 honest 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 fpeak their mind in fome other fort.

Biron. Stand afide, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules.
Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whofe club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed

canus;

And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,

Thus did he strangle ferpents in his manus :

Quoniam he feemeth in minority,

Ergo I come with this apology.

Keep fome ftate in thy Exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth: Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. A Judas !

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir;

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kifling traitor.

Judas?

Hol. Judas I am.

How art thou prov'd

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.

* A ridicule upon the arms given to Alexander in the history 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. Becaufe 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 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

nance.

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 dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

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

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.
Boyet. 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.

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