And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.”
[Aside.]
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
[Moth retires.]
“Judas I am”—
Dum. A Judas!
Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.
“Judas I am, ycliped Machabeus.”
Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt is plain Judas.
Ber. 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.
Ber. Well follow’d: Judas was hang’d on an elder.
Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Ber. Because thou hast no face.
Hol. What is this?
Boyet. A cittern-head.
Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Ber. A death’s face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet. The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.
Dum. The carv’d-bone face on a flask.
Ber. Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Ber. 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.
Ber. False, we have given thee faces.
Hol. But you have out-fac’d them all.
Ber. And 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.
Ber.
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.
[Holofernes retires.]
Prin.
Alas, poor Machabeus, how hath he been baited!
Enter Braggart [Armado for Hector].
Ber. Hide thy head, Achilles, here comes Hector in arms.
Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
King. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector?
King. I think Hector was not so clean-timber’d.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector’s.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boyet. No, he is best indu’d in the small.
Ber. This cannot be Hector.
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.
Ber.
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 breathed, that certain he would fight, yea,
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 sweet war-man is dead and rotten, sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried. When he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the Princess.] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Berowne steps forth [to whisper to Costard and then returns to his place].
Prin. Speak, brave Hector, we are much delighted.
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.
The party is gone”—
Cost. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.
Arm. What meanest thou?
Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, 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.
Cost. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang’d for Pompey that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boyet. Renowned Pompey!
Ber. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Ber. Pompey is mov’d. More Ates, more Ates! stir them [on], stir them on!
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Ber. Ay, if ’a have no more man’s blood in his belly than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north pole, I