Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore fo much Expence of thy Royal fweet Breath, as will utter a Brace of Words.

Prin. Doth this Man ferve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He fpeaks not like a Man of God's making.

Arm. That's all one, my fair fweet honey Monarch; for I proteft the Schoolmafter is exceeding fantastical: Too too vain, too too vain: But we will put it, as they fay, to Fortuna delaguar. I wish you the Peace of Mind, most Roya Cupplement.

King. Here is like to be a good Prefence of Worthies: H prefents Hector of Troy, the Swain Pompey the Great, the Parifh-Curate Alexander, Armado's Page Hercules, the Pedant Judas Machabeus; and if these four Worthies in their first Shew thrive, thefe four will change Habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There are five in the firft Shew.

King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.

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 fuch, take each one in's Vein.
King. The Ship is under fail, and here fhe comes amain.
Enter Coftard for Pompey.

Coft. I Pompey am.

Boyet. You lye, you are not he.

Coft. I Pompey am.

Boyet. With Libbard's Head on Knee.

Biron. Well faid, old Mocker,

I muft needs be Friends with thee.

Coft. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'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 fweat;

And travelling along this Coaft, I here am come by Chance, And lay my Arms before the Legs of this sweet Lafs of France;

If your Ladyship would fay Thanks Pompey, I had done.
Prin. Great Thanks, great Pompey.

Coft. 'Tis not fo 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 beftWorthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.

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

By Eaft, Weft, North and South, I spread my conquering Might:

My Efcutcheon plain declares that I am Alifander.

Boyet. Your Nofle fays no, you are not;

For it ftands too right.

Biron. Your Nose smells no, in this most tender fmelling Knight.

Prin. The Conqueror is difmaid:

Proceed, good Alexander.

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

Boyet. Moft true, 'tis right; you were fo Alifander.
Biron. Pompey the Great.

Coft. Your Servant and Coftard.

Biron. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alifander. Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the Conqueror. [to Nath.] You will be ferap'd out of the painted Cloth for this; your Lion that holds the Poll-ax fitting on a Clofeftool, will be given to Ajax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to speak? Run away for Shame, Alifander. There an't fhall please you; a foolish mild Man, an honeft Man, look you, and foon dafh'd. He is a marvellous good Neighbour infooth, and a very good Bowler; but for Alifander, alas you fee, how 'tis a little o'er-parted : But there are Worthies a coming will speak their Mind in fome other fort:

Biron. Stand afide, good Pompey.

Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules.
Hol. Great Hercules is prefented by this Imp,
Whofe Club kill'd Cerebus that three-headed Canis;

Gg 3

And

And when he was a Babe, a Child, a Shrimp,
Thus did he ftrangle Serpents in his Manus:
Quoniam, he feemeth in Minority;

Ergo, I come with this Apology,

Keep fome State in thy Exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. A Judas.

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir,

Judas I am, yclipped Machabeus,

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

[Exit Moth.

Biron. A kiffing 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. 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 Broch.

Dum. Ay and in a Broch 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. And thou wert a Lion we would do fo.

Boyet. Therefore as he is an Afs, let him

go;

And fo adieu fweet Jude. Nay, why doft 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

Boyet. A Light for Monfieur Judas, it grows dark, he may ftumble.

Prin. Alas poor Machabeus, how he hath been baited.

Enter Armado.

Biron. 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 refpect 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 beft indu'd with 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; yea
From Morn 'till Night, out of his Pavillion.

I am that Flower.

Dum. That Mint.

Long. That Cullambine.

Arm. Sweet Lord Longavile rein thy Tongue.

Long. I muft 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 Senfe of Hearing.
Prin. Speak brave Hector, we are much delighted.

Gg 4

Arm

Arm. I do adore thy fweet Grace's Slipper?
Boyet. Loves her by the Foot.

Dum. He may not by the Yard.

Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.
The Party is gone.

Coft. Fellow Hector, fhe is gone; she 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. Do'st 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.

Boyer. Renow'd 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 it by the Sword: I pray you let me borrow my Arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies.

Coft. I'll do it in my Shirt.

Dum. Moft refolute Pompey.

Moth. Mafter, let me take you a Button-hole lower. Do you not fee Pompey is uncafing for the Combat: What mean you? You will lofe 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.