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, King. I think, Hector was not fo clean-timber'd, Dum. More calf, certain. Boyet. No; he is beft indu'd in the small. Biran. This can't be Hector. Dum. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances Almighty, Gave Hector a gift, Dum. A gilt, nutmeg. Biron. A lemon. Long. Stuck with cloves. Dum. No, cloven. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances Almighty, A man fo breath'd, that certain he would fight ye I am that Flower. Dum. That mint, Long. That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longueville, rein thy tongue. 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; [To the Princefs.] Sweet Royalty, beftow on me the fenfe of hearing. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy fweet Grace's flipper. P 3 Boyet. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Dum. He may not, by the yard. Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal. Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, the is gone ; fhe is two months on her way. Arm. What mean'ft thou? Coft. Faith, uniefs you play the honeft Trojan, the pco: 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 Hector 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; ftir them on, ftir them on. more Ates, more Ates 3; 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. Coft. 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't in my shirt. Dum. Moft refolute Pompey! Moth. Mafter, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do ye not fee, Pompey is uncafing the the combat: what mean you? you will lofe your reputation. 3 More Ates.] That is, more inftigation. Ate was the mif chievous goddefs that incited bloodshed. my arms. -] The weapons and armour which he wore in the character of Pompey. Arm. Arm. Gentlemen, and foldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my fhirt. 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 enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen; fince when, I'll be fworn, he wore none but a difh-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a Favour. SCENE X. Enter Macard. Mac. God fave you, Madam; Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interruptest our merriment. Mac. I'm forry, Madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father Prin. Dead, for my life. Mac. Even fo: my Tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud. Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath; I ▲ It was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen ;] This may poffibly allude to a ftory, well known in our author's time, to this Effect. A Spaniard at Rome falling in a duel, as he lay expiring, an intimate friend, by chance, came by, and offered him his belt fervices. The dying man told him he had but one request to make to him, but conjured him by the memory of their paft friendship punctually to com ply with it, which was, not to fuffer him to be ftript, but to bury him as he lay, in the habit he then had on. When this was promifed, the Spaniard clofed his eyes, and expired with great compofure and refignation. But his friend's curiofi y prevailing over his good faith, he had him ftript, and found, to his great furprise, that he was without a fhirt. P4 WARBURTON.. have have feen the days of wrong through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right myfelf like a foldier. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your Majefty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to night." King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I fay.—I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchfafe 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 fo easily obtain'd. King. The extreme part of time extremely forms That, which long Procefs could not arbitrate. The holy fuit which fain it would convince ; 5 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 forefeen that a day will come when I fhall have juftice done me, and therefore I prudently referve myfelf for that time. WARBURTON. In the converfe of breath,-] Perhaps converfe may, in this line, mean interchange. Yet Editions; but, furely, without none. 8 1 An heavy Heart bears not an humble Tongue:] Thus all the convince ;] We must read, Be which Yet fince love's argument was firft on foot, From what it purpos'd: Since, to wail friends loft, As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Prin. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Biron. Honeft plain words best pierce the ear of grief; And by thefe badges understand the King. For your fair fakes have we neglected time, |