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 heir of Ilion;

A man fo breathed, 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 must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

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, beftow 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 (51). Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone; fhe is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean't thou?

(51) This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.

The party is gone]

All the Editions ftupidly have plac'd these laft Words as Part of Armado's Speech in the Interlude. I have ventur'd to give them to Coftard, who is for putting Armado out of his Part, by telling him the Party (i. e. his Mistress Jaquenetta,) is gone two Months with Child by him.

Coft.

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest 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.

Coft. Then fhall 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; more 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 flash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies.

Coft. I'll do't in my shirt.

Dum. Moft refolute Pompey!

Moth. Mafter, let me take you a button-hole lower. 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, (52) and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen; fince when, I'll be fworn he wore>

none,

(52) And it was injoin'd him in Rome for Want of Linnen ] ShakeSpeare certainly alludes here to a famous Story, a Matter of Fact that

hap

none, but a difh-clout of 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 interrupteft our merriment.

Mac. I'm forry, Madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your fatherPrin. 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 seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right my felf like a foldier.

King. How fares your Majesty?

[Exeunt Worthies.

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King, Madam, not fo; I do beseech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I fay. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,

Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excufe, or hide,
The liberal oppofition of our fpirits;
If over-boldly we have born our felves
In the converfe of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord;
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: (53)

Ex

happen'd at Rome, fometime, I think, before his Time. A Spaniard fell in a Duel: In his laft Moments one of his moft intimate Friends chanc'd to come by, condol'd with him, and offer'd his best Service. The Dying Perfon told him he had but One Request to make to him, and conjur'd him by the Memory of their long Friendship punctually to comply with It: which was, not to fuffer him to be ftript as ufual, but to bury him in the Condition, and very Habit he was then in. When This was promis'd, the Spaniard clos'd his Eyes, with great Composure and Satisfaction. But his Friend's Curiofity prevail'd over his Obligations, and defiring to know the Reafon of to uncommon a Requeft, fo earneftly prefs'd, he had him ftripp'd; and found, to his great Surprize, he was without a Shirt. Mr. Warburton.

(53) An heavy heart bears not an humble Tongue.] Thus all the Editions; but, furely, without either Senfe or Truth. None are more hum

ble

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 causes 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 courtefie 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 wholfome, profitable,

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Biron. Honeft plain words beft pierce the ear of grief 3 And by these 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
Even to th' oppofed end of our intents;
And what in us hath feem'd ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting strains,
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of ftraying shapes, 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,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Thofe heav'nly eyes, that look into thefe faults,
Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewife yours. We to our felves prove falfe,
By being once falfe, for ever to be true

ble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppreffion. The Prin cefs is defiring, her Grief may apologize for her not exprelling her Obli gations at large; and my Correction is conformable to that Sentiment.

VOL. II.

N

To

To thofe that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falfhood, in it felf a fin,
Thus purifies it felf, and turns to grace,

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love,
Your Favours, the embaffadors of love:
And in our maiden council rated them
At courtship, pleafant jeft, and courtefie;
As bumbaft, and as lining to the time:
But more devout, than these are our refpects,
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum. Our letters, madam, fhew'd much more than jeft.

Long. So did our looks.

Rofa. We did not coat them fo.

King. Now at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too fhort,

3

To make a world-without-end bargain in
No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltinefs; and therefore, this
If for my love (as there is no fuch caufe)
You will do ought, this fhall you do for me;
Your oath I will not truft; but go with speed
To fome forlorn and naked Hermitage,
Remote from all the pleafures of the world;
There ftay until the twelve celeftial Signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning..
If this auftere infociable life.

Change not your offer made in heat of blood
If froits, and fafts, hard lodging, and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy bloffoms of your love,

But that it bear this tryal, and laft love;

Then, at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deferts;
And by this virgin palm, now kiffing thine,
I will be thine; and 'till that inftant thut
My woful felf up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,

For the remembrance of my father's death.