Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man,-e'en one poor man; Pompion the great,

sir.

Biron. Art thou oue of the worthies?

Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pompion the great: for mine own part,

know not

the degree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him.

Biron. Go, bid them prepare.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take

some care.

[Exit Costard. King. Birón, they will shame us, let them not

approach.

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his

company.

King. I say, they shall 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 strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,

Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord,

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper.]

Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey mon. arch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too, vain; too, too vain: But

we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Exit Armado.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will chauge habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There is five in the first show.

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

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and the boy :

Abate a throw at novum*; and the whole world

again,

Cannot prickt out five such, take each one in his

vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes

amain.

[Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c.

Pageant of the Nine Worthies.

Enter Costard arm'd, for Pompey.

Cost. I Pompey am,———

Boyet.

You lie, you are not he.

With libbard's head on knee.

Cost. I Pompey am,————
Boyet.

Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be

friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,-
Dum. The great.

Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the

great;

That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make

And, travelling along this coast, I here am come

by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Birón. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander.

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

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

My'scutcheon plain declarcs, 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 tender. smelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: 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, Ali

sander.

Biron. Pompey the great,

Cost.

Your servant, and Costárd. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali

sander.

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-ax sitting on a close-stool, 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 dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth; 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.

Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth arm'd, for Hercules.

Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus ;

And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in is manus: Quoniam, he seemeth in minority;

Ergo, I come with this apology.---

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas I am,

[Exit Moth.

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing 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. Because thou hast 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 seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.

Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask*.

Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a broocht.

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. Biron. False; we have given thee faces. Hol. But you have out-fac'd 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. Doyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows dark, he may stumble.

Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!

Enter Armado arm'd, 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-timber'd.

Long. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small.

A soldier's powder-horn.

† An ornamental-buckle for fastening hat-bands, &c.