Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

That sport best pleases, that doth least know how: My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander.
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper.

Prin. Doth this man serve God?
Biron. Why ask you?

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-smelling knight.

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ;—

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Ali

sander.

Biron. Pompey the great,-
Cost.
Your servant, and Costárd.
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away

Alisander.

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey Alisander the conqueror? You will be scraped out Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, couplement ! [Exit Armado. and afeard to speak! run away for shame, AlisanKing. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- der. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis ;-a little o'erparted:But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

Machabæus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the

other five.

Cost. I Pompey am,-
Boyet.

Enter Costard

You lie, you are not he.

Cost. I Pompey am,-
Boyet.
With libbard's head on knee.
Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be
friends with thee.

Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,—
Dum. The great.

Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the|
great;

That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat:

And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance;

And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great.

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy.

Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander;

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.
Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth
Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp
arm'd, for Hercules.
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.-
Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.

Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kissing traitor:-How art thou prov'd
Judas?

Hol. Judas I am,

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.
Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.
Hol. Begin, sir; 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 hast no face.
Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce

seen.

Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask."
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch."
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False; we have given thee faces.

(4) An ornamental buckle for fastening batbands, &c.

Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him :

Jud-as, away,

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas: it grows dark, he may stumble.

Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited!

Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector.

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?

Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd.
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.

I

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.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace.

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;

A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.

I am that flower,—

Dum.

Long.

That mint.

Pompey! Pompey the huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.

Biron. Pompey is mov'd:-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.

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword :-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey!

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 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.

That columbine.cloud.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath:

Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs I have seen the day of wrong through the little 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 breath'd, he was a man-But I will for-
ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Prin-
cess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing.
[Biron whispers Costard.
Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de-
lighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,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. Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die.

hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a
soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so; 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-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide,
The liberals opposition of our spirits:
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue :
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes 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,

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jacque-
netta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pom-The holy suit which fain it would convince;

pey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it

From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost,

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,

(1) Lance-men.

(2) Até was the goddess of discord.

(3) A clown. (4) Clothed in wool, without linen. (5) Free to excess.

As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
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,
Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,-
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true

To those that make us both :-fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

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 favour 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 ho-

nesty ;

With three-fold 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

I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.
Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.
Long. What says Maria?

Mar.
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.

Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young.
Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there;

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Impose some service on me for thy love.

Your favours the embassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, 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.
Ros.
We did not quote them so.
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 guiltiness; and, therefore, this,-
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning;
If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love:
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and till that instant, shut
My woful self 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.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence even then my heart is in thy breast.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón,
Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won,)
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of
death?

It cannot be; it is impossible:

Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear'

groans,

Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befall what will
befall,

I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my
leave.
[To the King.
King. No, madam: we will bring you on your

way.

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.
King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a
day,

(5) Immediate.

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,-
Prin. Was not that Hector?

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.
Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take
leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta
to hold the plough for her sweet love three years.
But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the
dialogue that the two learned men have compiled,
in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should
have followed in the end of our show.

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm. Holla! approach.-

Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and
others.

This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring;| the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.

SONG.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

II.

Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

III.

In this play, which all the editors have concurWhen shepherds pipe on oaten straws, red to censure, and some have rejected as unworAnd merry larks are ploughmen's thy of our poet, it must be confessed that there are clocks, many passages mean, childish, and vulgar: and When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, some which ought not to have been exhibited, as And maidens bleach their summer we are told they were, to a maiden queen. But there are scattered through the whole many sparks of genius; nor is there any play that has more levident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. JOHNSON.

smocks,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;

That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio

SCENE I.-Venice. A street. Enter Antonio, Is sad to think upon his merchandise.