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You put our page out: go, you are allow'd;
Boyet. Full merrily,
Brave manager, hath this career been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight. Peace! I have done.
Welcome, pure wit! thou parteft a fair fray.
Whether the three worthies fhall come in, or no.
Coft. No, fir; but it is very fine;
Biron. And three times thrice is nine?
Coft. Not fo, fir, under correction, fir, I hope, it is not fo. You cannot beg us, fir, I can affure you, fir; we know what we know: I hope, three times thrice, fir
Biron. Is not nine.
Coft. Under correction, fir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
Coft. O lord, fir, it were pity you should get your living by
Biron. How much is it?
Coft. O lord, fir, the parties themselves, the actors, fir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for my own part, I am, as they say, but to perfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the great, sir. Biron. Art thou one of the worthies?
Coft. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy; but I am to ftand for him.
Biron. Go, bid them prepare.
Coft. We will turn it finely off, fir, we will take some care.
Biron. We are fhame-proof, my lord; and 'tis fome policy To have one show worse than the king and his company.
King. I fay, they shall not come.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now;
Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal fweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
Prin. Doth this man serve god?
Biron. Why afk you ?
Prin. He fpeaks not like a man of god's making.
Arm. That's all one, my fair, fweet, honey monarch; for, I
And if these four worthies in their firft fhow thrive,
King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-prieft, the fool, and the boy.
A bare throw at novem, and the whole world again
King. The fhip is under fail, and here fhe comes amain.
I muft needs be friends with thee.
Coft. I Pompey am, Pompey furnam'd the big.
Dum. The great.
Coft. It is great, fir; Pompey, furnam'd the great;
Did make my foe to fweat:
And travelling along this coaft, I here am come by chance;
Coft. 'Tis not fo much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect. I made a little fault in great.
Biron. My hat to a half-peny, Pompey proves the best worthy.
Enter Nathaniel for Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander:
Boyet. Your nofe fays, no, you are not; for it stands not right.
Coft. Your fervant, and Coftard.
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alifander.
Ajax; he will be then the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afraid to speak ! run away for shame, Alifander. There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man, an honeft man, look you, and foon dafh'd. He is a marvellous good neighbour, infooth, and a very good bowler; but, for Alifander, alas, you fee, how he's a little o'er-parted: but there are worthies a coming will speak their
mind in fome other fort.
Biron. Stand afide, good Pompey.
Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules.
Whofe club kill'd Cerberus the three-headed canus;
Keep fome state in thy exit, and vanish.
Hol. Not Ifcariot, fir,
Judas I am, ycleped Maccabeus.
Dum. Judas Maccabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
Dum. The more fhame for you, Judas.
Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hol. Begin, fir; 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 haft no face.
Hol. What is this?
Boyet. A cithern head.
Dum. The head of a bodkin.
• A ridicule upon the arms given to Alexander in the hiftory of the nine worthies; and it ends in a wretched quibble upon the words Ajax and A jakes.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Biron. Saint George's half cheek in a brooch.
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer :
Biron. Falfe; we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have outfac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion we would do fo.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
And fo, adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why doft thou stay ?
Biron. For the afs to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as, away.
Boyet. A light for monfieur Judas; it grows dark, he may
Prin. Alas, poor Maccabeus! how he hath been baited!
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms.
Dum. He's a god, or a painter; for he make faces.
Dum. A gilt nutmeg.