Enter Coftard.

Welcome pure Wit, thou part'ft a fair Fray.
Coft. O Lord Sir, they would know

Whether the three Worthies fhall come in, or no.

Biron. What, are there but three?

Coft. No Sir, but it is vara fine; For every one pursents three.

Biron. And three times thrice is nine?

Coft. Not fo Sir, under Correction Sir, I hope it is not fo. You cannot beg us Sir, I can affure you Sir, we know what we know: I hope three times thrice Sir

Biron. Is not nine.

Coft. Under Correction Sir, we know whereuntil it doth

amount.

Biron. By Jove I always took three Threes for nine. Coft. O Lord Sir, it were pity you should get your Living by reckoning, Sir.

Biron. How much is it?

Coft. O Lord Sir, the Parties themselves, the Actors Sir, will fhew whereuntil it doth amount; for mine own part, I am, as they fay, 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 Pompey 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, Sir, we will take fome Care. King. Biron, they will fhame us;

Let them not approach.

[Exit.

Biron. We are Shame-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'er-rule you now;
That Sport beft pleases, that doth least know how.
Where Zeal ftrives to content, and the Content
Dies in the Zeal of that which it prefents;
Their Form confounded, makes moft form in Mirth,
When great Things labouring perish in their Birth.
Biron. A right Defcription of our Sport, my Lord,

Ggz

Enter

Enter Armado.

Arm. Anointed, I implore fo much Expence of thy Royal fweet Breath, as will utter a Brace of Words,

Prin. Doth this Man ferve God?

Biron. Why ask you?

Prin. He fpeaks not like a Man of God's making.

Arm. That's all one, my fair sweet honey Monarch; for I proteft the Schoolmafter is exceeding fantastical: Too too vain, too too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to Fortuna delaguar. I wish you the Peace of Mind, moft Royal Cupplement.

King. Here is like to be a good Presence of Worthies: He prefents Hector of Troy, the Swain Pompey the Great, the Parish-Curate Alexander, Armado's Page Hercules, the Pedant Judas Machabens; and if thefe four Worthies in their firft Shew thrive, thefe four will change Habits, and present the other five.

Biron. There are five in the firft fhew.

King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not fo.

Biron. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge-Priest, the
Fool, and the Boy.

A bare throw at Novum, and the whole World again
Cannot prick out five fuch, take each one in's Vein.

King. The Ship is under fail, and here fhe comes amain
Enter Coftard for Pompey.

Coft. I Pompey am.

Boyet. You lye, you are not he.

Coft. I Pompey am.

Boyet. With Libbard's Head on Knee.

Biron. Well faid old Mocker,

I must needs be Friends with thee.

Coft. I Pompey am, Pompey furnam'd the Big.

Dum. The Great.

Coft. It is great, Sir; Pompey, furnam'd the Great; That oft in Field, with Targe and Shield,

did make my Foe to fweat:

And travelling along this Coaft, I here am come by Chanee. And lay my Arms before the Legs of this sweet Lafs of France;

If

If your Ladyship would fay Thanks Pompey, I had done. Prin. Great Thanks, great Pompey.

Coft. 'Tis not fo much worth; but I hope I was perfec. I made a little Fault in great.

Biron. My Hat to a Half-penny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

Enter Nathaniel for Alexand er.

Nath. When in the World I liv'd, I was the World's Commander.

By East, Weft, North and South, I spread my conquering Might:

My Efcutcheon plain declares that I am Alifander.

Boyet. Your Nofe fays no, you are not;

For it ftands not right.

Biron. Your Nofe fmells no, in this moft tender fmelling Knight.

Prin. The Conqueror is difmaid:

Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath. When in the World I liv'd, I was the World's Commander.

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were fo Alifander.
Biron. Pompey the Great.

Coft. Your Servant and Coftard.

Biron. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alifander. Coft. O Sir, you have overthrown Alifander the Conqueror. [to Nath.] You will be fcrap'd out of the painted Cloth for this; your Lion that holds the Poll-ax fitting on a Closestool, will be given to Ajax; he will be then the ninth Worthy. A Conqueror, and afraid to speak? Run away for Shame, Alifander. There an't fhall 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 'tis 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.
Hol. Great Hercules is prefented by this Imp,

Whofe Club kill'd Cerebus that three-headed Canis;

And when he was a Babe, a Child, a Shrimp,
Thus did he strangle Serpents in his Manus:
Quoniam, he feemeth in Minority;

Ergo, I come with this Apology.

Keep fome State in thy Exit, and vanish.

Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. A Judas.

Hol. Not Ifcariot, Sir.

Judas I am, clipped Machabeus.

[Exit Moth.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.

Biron. A kiffing 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 haft no Face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A Cittern Head.

Dum. The Head of a Bodkin.

Biron. A Death's Face in the Ring.

Long. The Face of an old Roman Coin, fcarce feen.
Boyet. The Pummel of Cafar's Faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone Face on a Flask.
Biron. St. George's half Cheek in a Broch.

Dum. Ay and in a Broch 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. Falfe, we have given thee Faces.

Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all,

Biron. And thou wert a Lion we would do fo.
Boyet. Therefore as he is an Afs, let him go ;

Ard fo adieu fwett Jude. Nay, why doft thou stay?
Dum. For the latter end of his Name.

Biron. For the Afs to the Jude; give it him. Jud-as

away.

Ho. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

Boyet.

Boyet. A Light for Monfieur Judas, it grows dark, he may stumble,

Prin. Alas poor Machabens, how he hath been baited.

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.
Boyet. But is this Hector?

King. I think Hector was not fo clean timber'd,

Long. His Leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More Calf, certain.

Boyet. No; he is beft indu'd with the fmall.

Biron. This can't be Hector.

Dum. He's a God or à Painter, for he makes Faces.

Arm. The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the Almighty, gave

Hector a Gift.

Dum. A gilt Nutmeg.

Biron. A Lemon.

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; yea

From Morn 'till Night, out of his Pavillion.

I am that Flower.

Dum. That Mint.

Long. That Cullambine.

Arm. Sweet Lord Longavile reign thy Tongue. Long. I muft rather give it the Reign; for it runs 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;

Sweet Royalty beftow on me the Senfe of Hearing.
Prin, Speak brave Hector. we are much delighted

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Arm.