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Biron. And three times three is nine?

Coft, Not fo, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope, is not fo.

You cannot beg us, Sir; I can affure you, Sir, we kno what we know: I hope, three times thrice, SirBiron. Is not nine.

Coft. Under correction, Sir, we know where until dt h amount.

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine Coft. O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get you living by reckoning, Sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Coft. O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for my ow part, I am, as they fay, but to perfect one man in on poor man, Pompion the Great, Sir.

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?

Coft. It pleafed them to think me worthy of Pompie the Great for mine own part, I know not the degre of the Worthy; but I am to ftand for him.

Biron. Go bid them prepare.

Coft. We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take fome

care.

King. Biron, they will fhame us; let them not ap proach. [Exit Colt Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis fom policy

To have one Show worse than the King's and his Com

pany.

King. I fay, they fhall 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 moft form in mirth; When great things, labouring, perish in their birth.

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

LovE's Labour's loft.

249

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore fo much expence of thy oyal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. Prin. Doth this man ferve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, honey monarch; or, I proteft, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; oo, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as hey 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 Worhies: he prefents Hector of Troy; the fwain, Pompey the Great; the parifh-curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabeus.

And if thefe four Worthies in their firft Show thrive, Thefe four will change habits, and present the other five. Biroh. There are five in the firft 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 fuch, take each one in's vein. King The fhip is under fail, and here fhe comes a main.

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 te

friends with thee.

Goft. 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 fhield,

Did make my foe to fweat:

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And travelling along this coaft, I here am come by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this faveet Lafs of France.

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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 best Worthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.

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

By eaft, weft, north and south, Spread my conquering might:

My 'Scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alifänder.

Boyet. Your nofe fays, no, you are not; for it ftands too right.

Biron. Your nofe smells, no, in this, most tender fmel-
ling Knight..

Prin. The Conqueror is difmaid: 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. [a Nath.] You will be fcraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds the poll-ax fitting on a clofe ftool, will be given to Ajax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to Speak? run away for fhame, Alifander. There, an't fhall please you;, a foolish mild man; an honest man, lock you, and foon dafh'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, infooth, and a very good bowler; but for Alifander,

LovE's Labour's loft.

251

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,

Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus,

And when he was a babe, a child, a fhrimp,
Thus did he strangle ferpents in his manus :

Quoniam, he feemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.

Keep fome ftate in thy Exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir;

Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kiffing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas &

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. The more fhame 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 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, fcarce feen..
Boyet. The pummel of Gafar'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.

Birona

Biron. Falfe; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do fo.
Boyet. Therefore as he is an afs, let him go.

An fo adieu, fweet Jude; nay, why doft thou ftay?
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 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 respect 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 in the fmall.

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 breath'd, that certain he would fight ye
From morn 'till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that Flower.

Dum. That mint.

Long. That cullambine.

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