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Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False; we have given thee faces, Hol. But you have outfaced them all. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.
Biron. For the ass to the Jude? Give it him:Jud-as, away.
Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas. It grows dark; he may stumble.
Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!
Enter ARMADO armed, for Hector.
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.
Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
King. Hector was but a Trojan1 in respect of this. Boyet. But is this Hector?
Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timbered.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small.
Biron. This cannot be Hector.
Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes
Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift,—
Dum. A gilt nutmeg.
Biron. A lemon.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
1 Trojan is supposed to have been a cant term for a thief. It was, however, a familiar name for any equal or inferior.
2 i. e. lance-men.
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.
Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man-but I will forward with my device. Sweet royalty, [To the Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing.
[BIRON whispers COSTARD. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot.
Dum. He may not by the yard.
Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,—
Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector; she is gone; she is two months on her way.
Arm. What meanest thou?
Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away. She's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours.
Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.
Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hanged, for Pompey that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renowned Pompey!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is moved.-More Ates,' more Ates; Stir them on! Stir them on!
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword.-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. Dum. Most resolute Pompey!
Moth. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it. the challenge.
Pompey hath made
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; 1 go woolward for penance.
Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's; and that he wears next his heart for a favor.
Enter a Messenger, MONSIEUR Mercade.
Mer. God save you, madam.
Prin. Welcome, Mercade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The king your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.
Mer. Even so; my tale is told.
1 i. e. more instigation. Ate was the goddess of discord.
2 That is, clothed in wool, and not in linen; a penance often enjoined in times of superstition.
Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion,' and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Prepare, I say.—I thank you, gracious lords,
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose,2 decides That which long process could not arbitrate. And though the mourning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love,
The holy suit which fain it would convince ;3
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double. Biron. Honest, plain words best pierce the ear of
grief; And by these badges understand the king.
1 Armado probably means to say, in his affected style, that "he had discovered he was wronged." "One may see day at a little hole," is a proverb.
2 Loose may mean at the moment of his parting; i. e. of his getting loose or away from us.
3 i. e. which it fain would succeed in obtaining.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.
Prin. We have received your letters, full of love; Your favors, the ambassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast, and as lining to the time. But more devout than this, in our respects, Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, showed much more than
Long. So did our looks.
Ros. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.
A time methinks too short
1 Thus in Decker's Satiromastix: "You shall swear not to bombast out
a new play with the old linings of jests."