Enter NATHANIEL armed, for Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander;

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might;

My 'scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander. Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.'

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tendersmelling knight.2

Prin. The conqueror is dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander ;

Boyet. Most true; 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the Great,

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. Biron. Take away the conqueror; take away Alisander.

Cost. O, sir, [To NATH.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this. Your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool,3 will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. [NATH. retires.] There, an't shall please you; a foolish, mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed! He is a marvellous good neighbor, in sooth; and a very good bowler; but, for Alisander, alas! you see how 'tis; a little o'erparted.-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

1 It should be remembered, that the head of Alexander was obliquely placed on his shoulders.

2 "His (Alexander's) body had so sweet a smell of itselfe that all the apparell he wore next unto his body, tooke thereof a passing delightful savour, as if it had been perfumed." North's Plutarch.

3 This alludes to the arms given, in the old history of the Nine Worthies, to Alexander, "the which did bear geules a lion, or, seiante in a chayer, holding a battle-axe argent."

Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for Judas, and MOTH armed, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp,

Whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed canus, And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.

Quoniam he seemeth in minority,

Ergo I come with this apology.

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit MOTн.

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipped is plain Judas. Biron. A kissing traitor!-How art thou proved Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. The more shame for

Hol. What mean you, sir?

you, Judas.

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron. Well followed. Judas was hanged on an elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.1

Dum. The head of a bodkin.

Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Boyet. The pommel of Cæsar's falchion.

Dum. The carved-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.

1 The cittern, a musical instrument like a guitar, had usually a head grotesquely carved at the extremity of the neck and finger-board.

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.

1 Trojan is supposed to have been a cant term for a thief. It was, however, a familiar name for any equal or inferior.

2 i. e. lance-men.

Arm. Peace!

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that flower,—

Dum.

Long.

That mint.

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 Pom

pey! 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 you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.

2

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.

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 father-
Prin. Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so; my tale is told.

1 i. e. more instigation. Ate was the goddess of discord.

2 That is, clothed in wool, and not in linen; a penance often enjoined in times of superstition.