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 Trojan' 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

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. Peace!
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Nion ;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea

From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,-
Dum.

That mint.
Long

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. Årm. 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. Pompey hath made the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. .
Biron. What reason have for't ?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I 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.

you

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

The king your father-
Prin. Dead, for my life.
Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

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. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay,

Prin. Prepare, I say.--I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavors, and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe, In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, The liberal opposition of our spirits. If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.-Farewell

, worthy lord ! A heavy heart bears not a humble tongue: Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtained.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose, 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 Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 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.

For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Played foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humors
Even to the opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seemed ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ;
Formed by the eye, and therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours.

We to ourselves prove false,
By being once false forever to be true
To those that make us both,-fair ladies, you ;
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
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

jest. 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. Prin.

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."

Regard.
VOL. II.

21