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King. Hedor 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 Hedor.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is beft indu'd in the small.

Biron. This can't be Hedor.

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 papilion.

I am that Flower.

Dum. That mint.

Long. That cullambine.

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 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 her by the foot.

Dum. He may not, by the yard.

i Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal. Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; fhe is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean'st thou?

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest 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 shalt die.

Coft. Then fhall Hedor be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.

Dum. Moft rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

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

Dum. Hector trembles.

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

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

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.

Cot. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I'll flash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthies.
Coft. I'll do it 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 shirt.

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 enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; fince when, I'll be fworn, he wore none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour.



Enter Macard.

OD fave you, Madam!

Mac. GoP

G Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou in

terrupteft our merriment.

Mac. I'm forry, Madam, for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mac. Even fo: my Tale is told.

* I

Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud. Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath; have seen the day of right through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right myself like a foldier.

King. How fares your Majesty?

[Exeunt Worthies.

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night. King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, ftay. Prin. Prepare, I say.—I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wifdom to excufe, or hide, The liberal oppofition of our fpirits; If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converfe of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord; An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue : Excufe me fo, coming fo fhort of thanks, For my great Suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme part of time extremely forms. All causes to the purpose of his speed;

And often, at his very loofe, decides

I have feen the days of wrong through the little hole of difcretion,] This has no Meaning, we fhould read, the day of right, i. e. I have foreseen that a Day will come when I fhall have Juftice done me, and therefore I prudently reserve myself for that Time.


That, which long Procefs could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the fmiling courtesy of love,

The holy fuit which fain it would convince;
Yet fince love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of forrow justle it

From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft,
Is not by much fo wholefome, profitable,

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Biron. Honeft plain words beft pierce the ear of grief;

And by these badges understand the King.

For your fair fakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul Play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to th' oppofed end of our intents;
And what in us hath feem'd ridiculous,
As love is full of unbefitting ftrains,
All wanton as a child, skipping in vain,
Form'd by the eye, and therefore like the eye,
Full of ftraying fhapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in fubjects as the eye doth rowl,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heav'nly eyes,
Have mifbecom'd our oaths and gravities;
Those heav'nly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggefted us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewife yours. We to ourfelves prove false,
By being once false, for ever to be true

To thofe that make us both; fair ladies, you:
And even that falfhood, in itself a fin,

Thus purifies itself, and turns to Grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; Your Favours, the embaffadors of love:

And in our maiden council rated them


At courtship, pleasant jeft, and courtesy;
As bumbaft, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this, (fave our refpects)
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.


Dum. Our letters, Madam, fhew'd much more than
Long. So did our looks.


Rof. We did not quote them fo.

King. Now at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too short,

To make a world-without-end bargain in;
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltinefs; and therefore, this-
If for my love (as there is no fuch caufe)
You will do ought, this fhall you do for me;
Your oath I will not truft; but go with speed
To fome forlorn and naked Hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay, until the twelve celeftial Signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this auftere infociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frofts, and fafts, hard lodging, and thin weeds.
Nip not the gaudy bloffoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge me; challenge me, by these deserts;
And by this virgin palm, now kiffing thine,

I will be thine; and 'till that inftant shut
My woful felf up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

We did not coat them fo. We fhould read, quote, efteem, reckon.

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