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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 breathed, that certain he would fight ye
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower.
Dum. That mint.
Long. 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 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 he by the foot?
Dum. He may not by the yard.
Arm. This Hector far furmounted Hannibal.
Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone; fhe is two months on her way.
Arm. What mean'ft thou?
Coft. 'Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; she's quick; the child brags in her belly already : 'tis yours.
Arm. Doft thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt
Coft. Then fhall Hector be whipp'd for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him. Dum. Moft rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renown'd Pompey!
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd, more Atès, more Atès; stir 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.
Coft. I will not fight with a pole like a northern man; I'll slash;
I'll do't by the fword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Coft. I'll do't in my shirt.
Dum. Moft refolute Pompey!
Moth. Mafter, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing 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 enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen; fince when, I'll be fworn, he wore none, but a dishclout of Jaquenetta's; and that he wears next his heart for a favour.
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 mine own part, I breathe free breath; I have seen the day of right through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a foldier.
King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not fo; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-fad foul, that
In rich wisdom to excufe, or hide,
The liberal oppofition of our fpirits;
If over-boldly we have born ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord!
An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue :
Excuse me fo, coming fo fhort of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
King. The extreme part of time extremely forms
All caufes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides
That which long process could not arbitrate.
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling 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: fince to wail friends lost
Is not by much fo wholesome, 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' opposed 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, and 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 roll,
To every varied object in his glance;
Which party-coated prefence 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,
Suggested us to make them: therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the errour that love makes
Is likewife yours: we to ourselves 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 bombaft, and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this in our respects
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest.
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 fhort,
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 cause)
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 figns
Have brought about their annual reckoning.
If this auftere infociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fafts, hard lodging, and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy bloffoms of
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge me, challenge by these deserts ;
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing 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 entitled in the other's heart.
King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To fetter up these powers of mine with rest, The fudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breaft.
Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me?
Cath. No wife: a beard, fair health, and honefty;
With threefold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, fhall I fay, I thank you, gentle wife?
Cath. Not fo, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that fmooth-fac'd wooers fay.
Come when the king doth to my lady come;
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you fome.
Dum. I'll ferve thee true and faithfully till then.
Cath. Yet fwear not, left you be forfworn again.
Long. What fays Maria?