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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, Sir
Biron. Is not nine.
Coft. Under correction, Sir, we know where until it dt h 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 themfelves, 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?
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.
Coft. We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take fome
King. Biron, they will shame us; let
Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord;
them not ap[Exit Coft. and 'tis fome
To have one Show worse than the King's and his Com
King. I fay, they fhall not come.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now; That fport best pleases, that doth least know how. Where zeal ftrives to content, and the contents Dies 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 description of our sport, my lord.
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 speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, honey monarch; for, I proteft, the schoolmaster 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 coupplement.
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 these four Worthies in their first Show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five: Biron. There are five in the first Show.
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 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 Coftard for Pompey,
Coft. I Pompey am
Boyet. You lye, you are not he...
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.
Coft. It is Great, Sir; Pompey, furnam'd the Great ; That oft in field, with targe and field,
Did make my foe to sweat :
And travelling along this coaft, I here am come by
And lay my arms before the legs of this fweet Lafs of France.
If your ladyship would fay, "thanks,—Pompey, I had
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 east, weft, north and fouth, I spread my conquering might:
My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alifander. Boyet. Your nofe fays, no, you are not; for it ftands too right.
Biron. Your nofe fmells, no, in this, most tender fiel-
Prin. The Conqueror is difmaid: proceed, good
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
Boyet. Moft true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander.
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 clofe-ftool, will be given to Ajax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to fpeak? 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'er-parted: 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 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. [Exit Moth. Hol. Judas I am.
Dum. A Judas!
Hol. Not Iscariot, Sir;
Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.
Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
Dum. The more fhame for you, Judas.
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?
Boyet. A cittern head.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, fcarce feen.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer; And now, forward; for we have put thee in counte
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. An 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,
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 respect of this.
King. I think, Hector was not fo clean-timber'd.
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.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man fo breath'd, that certain he would fight ye
Dum. That mint.
Long. That cullambine.
Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.