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 shrimp,

Thus did he strangle ferpents in his manus : Quoniam, he feemeth in minority;

Keep fome state in thy Exit, and vanish.

Ergo, I come with this apology.

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir;

Judas I am, yeleped Machabeus.

[Exit Moth.

Dum. Judas Machabeus 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. 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, scarce feen.
Boyet. The pummel of Cafar'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 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

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. Forthe Afs to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as, away.
Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Boyet. A light for monfieur Judasit grows dark, he
may ftumble.
Prin. Alas! poor Machabeus,how he hath been baited!

Enter Armado.

Biren. 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.
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 lances the Almighty, Gave Hector a gift,

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.

Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

A man fo breath'd, that certain he would fight ye
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that Flower.

Dum. That mint.

Long. That cullambine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I muft rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.

Arm. The fweet War-man is dead and rotten; Sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the bury'd: But I will forward with my device;

Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the fenfe of hearing.
Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
Arm. I do adore thy fweet Grace's flipper.

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not, by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.

Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hedor, fhe is gone; he is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean'ft thou?

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honeft Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; fhe's quick, the child brags in her belly already. Tis yours.

Arm. Doft thou infamonize me among Potentates ? Thou shalt die.

Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.

Dum. Moft rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd; moré Ates, more Ates; ftir them on, ftir them on.

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will fup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee..

Coft. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I'll dash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthies.

Coft. I'll do't in my

fhirt.

Dum. Moft refolute Pompey!

Math. Matter, let me take you a button-hole lower.

Do

Do ye not fee, Pompey is uncafing for the combat: what mean you? you will lofe your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen, and foldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Biron. What reafon have you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no fhirt; I go woolward for penance.

Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen; fince when, I'll be fworn, he wore none but a difh-clout o Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.

Enter Macard.

Mac. God fave you, Madam!

Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interruptest our merriment.

Mac. I'm forry, Madam; for the news I bring

Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father.
Prin. Dead for my life.

Mac. Even fo: my Tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud. Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath; I have feen the day of wrong through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right myfelf like a foldier.

King. How fares your Majefty?,

[Exeunt Worthies.

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, ftay.

Prin. Prepare, I fay.I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,

Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchfafe
In your rich wisdom to excufe, or hide,
The liberal oppofition of our fpirits;
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converfe of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;

An

An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: (38)
Excufe me fo, coming fo fhort of thanks,
For my great Suit fo eafily obtain'd.

King. The extreme part of time extremely forms
All caufes to the purpose of his fpeed;
And often, at his very loose, decides

That, which long Procefs could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of progeny

Forbid the fmiling courtesy of love,

The holy fuit which fain it would convince;
Yet fince love's argument was firft on foot,
Let not the cloud of forrow juftle it,

From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft,
Is not by much fo wholefome, profitable,

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Biron. Honeft plain words belt pierce the ear of grief; And by thefe badges understand the King,

For your

fair fakes have we neglected time,

Play'd foul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours.
Ev'n to th' oppofed end of our intents;
"And what in us hath feemed ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting ftrains,
All wanton as a child, skipping in vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of ftraying fhapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in fubjects as the eye doth rowl,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated prefence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,

(38) An beavy Heart bears not an humble Tongue.] Thus all the Editions; but, furely, without either Senfe or Truth. None are more bumble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppreffion. The Princefs is defiring, her Grief may apologize for her not expreffing her Obligations at large; and my Correction is conformable to that Sentiment. Befides, there is an Antithefis between beavy and nimble; but between heavy and bumble, there

is none.

Have

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