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.

Lang. That columbine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I muft rather give it the rein; for it runs a gainst 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, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
Arm. I do adore thy fweet Grace's flipper.

Boyet. Loves he by the foot ?

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.

Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone; fhe

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

fhalt 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. Renown'd Pompey!

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

Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd, more Atès, more Atès, ftir them on, ftir them on.

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Ff2

Biron,

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 fword: 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!

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 foldiers, pardon me, I will not combat in my fhirt.

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 Jinnen; fince when, I'll be fworn he wore none, but a difh-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a favour.

SCENE X. Enter Macard.

Mac. God fave you, Madam.

Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft qur merriment.

Mac. I am 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 mine own part, I breathe free breath; I have feen the day of right through the little hole of difcretion,

and I will right my felf 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, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,

For

Enter all.

This fide is Hiems, winter.

This Ver, the fpring: the one maintain'd by the owl,

The other by the cuckow.

Ver, begin.

The SON G.

When daizies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-fmocks all filver white,
And cuckov-buds of yellow bue,"
Do paint the meadows with delight;
The cuckou then on every tree
Mocks married men ; for thus fings he,
Cuckow.

Cuckow, cuckow: 0 word of fear,
Unpleafing to a married ear!

When Jhepherds pipe on oaten firaws,

And merry larks are ploughmens clocks:
When turtles tread, and rooks and daws,
And maidens bleach their fummer Smocks ;
The cuckow then on every tree

Mocks married men; for thus fings he,
Cuckow.

Cuckow, cuckow: 0 word of fear,
Unpleafing to a married ear!

WINTER.

When ificles bang by the wall,

And Dick the fhepherd blows his nail;
And Tom bears logs into the ball,
And milk comes frozen bome in pail ;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly fings the ftaring owl
Tu-whit, to-who;

A merry note,

While greafie Jone doth keel the pot.

When

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parfon's faw;
And birds fit brooding in the fnow,
And Marian's nofe looks red and raw;
When roafted crabs bifs in the bowl,
Then nightly fings the flaring owl,
Tu-whit, to-whe: