To make my lady laugh, when she's difpos'd,
Told our intents before; which once difclos'd,
The ladies did change favours, and then we
Following the fighs, woo'd but the fign of the :
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' fquier,
And laugh upon the apple of her eye,

And ftand between her back, Sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jefting merrily?

[To Boyet.

You put our page out: go, you are allow'd,
Die when you will, a fmock fhall be your shrowd,
You leer upon me, do you

Wounds like a leaden fword

Boyet. Full merrily

there's an eye

Brave manager, hath 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. Olord, Sir, they would know

Whether the three worthies thall come in, or no

Biron. What, are there but three?

Coft. No, Sir, but it is very fine;

For every one prefents three.

Biron. And three times thrice 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, Sir

Biron. 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.

Biren. How much is it?

Coft. lord, Sir, the parties themfelves, the actors, Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am,

as

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 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 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 shame us; let them not approach. [Exit Coft. Biron. We are fhame-proof, my lord; and 'tis fome

policy

To have one show worfe than the King and his company. King. I fay, 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 ftrives to content, and the content
Dies in the zeal of that it doth prefent;

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 schoolmafter is exceeding fantaftical: too, too vain, too, too vain: but we will put it, as they fay, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, moft royal cupplement.

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

And if thefe four worthies in their firft fhew thrive, These four will change habits, and prefent the other five. Biron, There are five in the first shew,

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

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

A bare throw at novem, 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 lie, 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,

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

Did make my foe to feat:

And travelling along this coaft, I bere am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this fweet lafs of France, If your ladyship would fay, thanks, Pompey, I had done. 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 half-penny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.

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

By caft, weft, north and fouth, I spread my conquering might My efcutcheon plain declares that I am Alifander.

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

Biron. Your nofe fmells no, in this moft tender smelling
Knight,

Prin. The conqueror is difmaid: proceed, good Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's com

mander.

Boyet. Moft true, 'tis right; you were fo, Alifander.
Biron. Pompey the Great!

Coft. Your fervant and Costard.

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alifander. Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the conqueror. [To Nath.] You will be fcrap'd out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll-ax fitting on a closestool, will he given to Ajax ;* he will be then the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afraid to speak? run away for fhame, Alifander. There, an't fhall pleafe you a foolish mild man, an honeft man, look you, and foon dash'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, infooth, and a very good bowler; but for Alifander, alas, you fee, how he's a little o'er-parted but there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some 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 the three-headed canus ;

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

Thus did he ftrangle ferpents in his manus :

Quoniam, he feemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.

Keep fome ftate in thy Exit, and vanish.

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir,

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

[Exit Moth.

Dum. Judas Macbabeus 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. 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?

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 Ajakes,

VOL. II.

Ff

Boyet

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, scarce 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 broch.
Dum. Ay, and in a broch 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'

merry.

my

mocks come home to me, I will now be

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect 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.

Boyet. No; he is best indu'd in the small.

Biron. This can't be Hector.

Dum. He's a God or a painter, for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty, Gave Hector a gift.

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.

Biren. A lemon.

Long.