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Dum. For the latter end of his name.
Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in
Give it him:-Jud-as,
Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
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.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
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.
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea
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.
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!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! 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.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
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.
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go woolward for penance.
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.
Prin. Welcome, Mercade.
Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Prin. Dead, for my life.
Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty ?
Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious lords,
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest, plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Played foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humors Even to the opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seemed ridiculous,-
Prin. We have received your letters, full of love;
Dum. Our letters, madam, showed much more than jest.
We did not quote them so.
A time methinks too short
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast. Biron. And what to me, my love ? and what to me?
Ros. You must be purged too; your sins are rank ; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick.
Dum. But what to me, my love ? but what to me?
Kath. A wife! — A beard, fair health, and honesty; With threefold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
Kath. Not so, my lord.—A twelvemonth and a day
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.
Biron. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me;
Ro8. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón,