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.

Cost. 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 thew whereuntil it doth amount; for my own part, I am, as they say, 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 stand 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 shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis fome policy

To have one Show worse than the King's 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 contents
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents;
Their form, confounded, makes most form in mirth;
When great things, labouring, perish in their birth.
Biran, A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy

royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch :: for, I protest, 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, most royal coupplement.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies: he presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 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 such, take each one in's vein.
King. The ship is under fail, and here she comes
amain.

Enter Costard for Pompey.

Coft. I Pompey am

Boyet. Youlye, you are not he.

Coft. I Pompey am

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.
Dum. The Great.

Coft. It is Great, Sir; Pompey, furnam'd the Great

That oft in field, with targe and shield,

Did make my foe to sweat ::

4.5.

1

And :

And travelling along this coaft, I bere am come by

chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this fweet Lass of
France.

If your ladyship would say, "thanks,-Pompey, I had
done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Coft. 'Tis not so 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, west, north and fouth, I spread my conquering
might:

My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.

Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

Bivon. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender smel-
ling Knight.

Prin. The Conqueror is dismaid: proceed, good
Alexander.

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

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, 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 scraped 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 shame, Alifander. There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and foon dash'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth, and a very good bowler; but for Alifander,

Alifander, alas, you fee, how 'tis a little o'er parted: but there are Worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other fort.

Biron. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules. Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,

Whose 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 seemeth in minority;
Ergo, I come with this apology.
Keep some state in thy Exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas Iam.

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, Sir;

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

1

[Exit Moth.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kifling traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas?

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. The more shame 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 hast 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 seen.

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.

Biror. 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 so adieu, sweet 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-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 Machabeus, how he hath been baited!

Enter Armado.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hetor 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 so 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.

Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the beir of Ilion;

A man so breath'd, that certain be 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.