Prin.
Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If Fairings come thus plentifully in.
A lady wall'd about with diamonds!—
Look you, what I have from the loving King.

Ros.
Madam, came nothing else along with That?

Prin.
Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme,
As would be cram'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Ros.
That was the way to make his God-head wax,
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Cath.
Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Ros.
You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister.

Cath.
He made her melancholy, sad and heavy,
And so she died; had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,

She might have been a grandam ere she dy'd.
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros.
What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

Cath.
A light condition, in a beauty dark.

Ros.
We need more light to find your meaning out.

Cath.
You'll marr the light, by taking it in snuff:
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros.
Look, what you do; and do it still i'th' dark.

Cath.
So do not you, for you are a light wench.

Ros.
Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light.

Cath.
You weigh me not; O, that's, you care not for me.

Ros.
Great reason; for (a) ^note past Cure is still past Care.

Prin.
Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a Favour too:
Who sent it? and what is it?

Ros.
I would, you knew.
And if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have Verses too, I thank Biron.
The numbers true, and were the numbring too,
I were the fairest Goddess on the ground.
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter.

Prin.
Any thing like?

Ros.
Much in the letters, nothing in the praise.

Prin.
Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

Cath.
Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

Ros.
Ware pencils. How? let me not die your debter,
My red dominical, my golden letter.
O, that your face were not so full of Oes!

Cath.
Pox of that jest, and I beshrew all shrews:

Prin.
But what was sent to you from fair Dumaine?

Cath.
Madam, this glove.

Prin.
Did he not send you twain?

Cath.
Yes, Madam; and moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover.
A huge translation of hypocrisie,
Vildly compil'd, profound simplicity.

Mar.
This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville;
The letter is too long by half a mile.

Prin.
I think no less; dost thou not wish in heart,
The chain were longer, and the letter short?

Mar.
Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

Prin.
We are wise girls, to mock our lovers for't.

Ros.
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture, ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by th' week!
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhimes,
And shape his service all to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud with jests:
^{4 note}

Prin.
None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd,
As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Ros.
The blood of youth burns not in such excess,
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Mar.
Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As fool'ry in the wise, when wit doth dote:
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. SCENE IV. Enter Boyet.

Prin.
Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

Boyet.
O, I am stab'd with laughter; where's her Grace?

Prin.
Thy news, Boyet?

Boyet.
Prepare, Madam, prepare.
Arm, wenches, arm; Encounters mounted are
Against your peace; love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments; you'll be surpriz'd.
Muster your wits, stand in your own defence,
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Prin.
Saint Dennis, to saint Cupid! what are they,
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

Boyet.
Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;
When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd Rest,
Toward that shade, I might behold, addrest
The King and his companions; warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by;
And over-heard, what you shall over-hear:
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their Herald is a pretty knavish Page,
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage.

Action and accent did they teach him there;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear;
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence majestical would put him out:
For, quoth the King, an Angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.
The boy reply'd, an Angel is not evil;
I should have fear'd her, had she been a Devil.—
With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder,
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd, and swore,
A better speech was never spoke before.
Another with his finger and his thumb,
Cry'd, via! we will do't, come what will come.
The third he caper'd and cry'd, all goes well:
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
With that they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.

Prin.
But what, but what, come they to visit us?

Boyet.
They do, they do; and are apparell'd thus,
^{5 note}Like Moscovites, or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parley, court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his sev'ral mistress; which they'll know,
By Favours sev'ral, which they did bestow.

Prin.
And will they so? the gallants shall be taskt;
For, ladies, we will every one be maskt:
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despight of suite, to see a lady's face.

Hold, Rosaline; this Favour thou shalt wear,
And then the King will court thee for his Dear:
Hold, take you this, my sweet, and give me thine;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline,
And change your Favours too; so shall your Loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Ros.
Come on then, wear the Favours most in sight.

Cath.
But in this changing, what is your intent?

Prin.
Th' effect of my intent is to cross theirs;
They do it but in mocking merriment,
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several councils they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mockt withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk and greet.

Ros.
But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?

Prin.
No; to the death, we will not move a foot;
Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace:
But while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.

Boyet.
Why, that contempt will kill the Speaker's heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his Part.

Prin.
Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt,
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such Sport, as Sport by Sport o'erthrown,
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own;
So shall we stay, mocking intended game;
And they, well mockt, depart away with shame. [Sound.

Boyet.
The trumpet sounds; be maskt, the maskers come. SCENE V. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, Dumain, and Attendants, disguis'd like Moscovites; Moth with Musick, as for a masquerade.

Moth.
All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!

Boyet.
Beauties, no richer than rich taffata.

Moth.
A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
That ever turn'd their backs to mortal views. [The ladies turn their backs to him.

Biron.
Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

Moth.
That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views.
Out—

Biron.
True; out, indeed.

Moth.
Out of your favours, heav'nly Spirits, vouchsafe
Not to behold

Biron.
Once to behold, rogue.

Moth.
Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes—
With your sun-beamed eyes—

Boyet.
They will not answer to that epithete;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.

Moth.
They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

Biron.
Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue.

Ros.
What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet.
If they do speak our language, 'tis our Will
That some plain man recount their purposes.
Know, what they would.

Boyet.
What would you with the Princess?

Biron.
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.

Ros.
What would they, say they?

Boyet.
Nothing, but peace and gentle visitation.

Ros.
Why, That they have; and bid them so be gone.

Boyet.
She says, you have it; and you may be gone.

King.
Say to her, we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure with her on the grass.

Boyet.
They say, that they have measur'd many a mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Ros.
It is not so. Ask them, how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many,
The measure then of one is easily told.

Boyet.
If to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles; the Princess bids you tell,

How many inches doth fill up one mile?

Bïron.
Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

Boyet.
She hears herself.

Ros.
How many weary steps
Of many weary miles, you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?

Biron.
We number nothing that we spend for you;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to shew the sun-shine of your face,
That we (like savages) may worship it.

Ros.
My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

King.
Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

Ros.
O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter;
Thou now request'st but moon-shine in the water.

King.
Then in our measure vouchsafe but one change;
Thou bid'st me beg, this begging is not strange.

Ros.
Play, musick, then; nay, you must do it soon.
Not yet? no dance? thus change I, like the moon.

King.
Will you not dance? how come you thus estrang'd?

Ros.
You took the moon at full, but now she's chang'd.

King.
Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The musick plays, vouchsafe some motion to it.

Ros.
Our ears vouchsafe it.

King.
But your legs should do it.

Ros.
Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,
We'll not be nice; take hands;—we will not dance.

King.
Why take you hands then!

Ros.
Only to part friends;
Curt'sie, sweet hearts, and so the measure ends.

King.
More measure of this measure; be not nice.

Ros.
We can afford no more at such a price.

King.
Prize your selves then; what buys your company?

Ros.
Your absence only.

King.
That can never be.

Ros.
Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

King.
If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

Ros.
In private then.

King.
I am best pleas'd with That.

Biron.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

Prin.
Honey, and milk, and sugar, there is three.

Biron.
Nay then, two treys,; and if you grow so nice,
Methegline, wort, and malmsey;—well run, dice:
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin.
Seventh sweet, adieu;
Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you.

Biron.
One word in secret.

Prin.
Let it not be sweet.

Biron.
Thou griev'st my gall.

Prin.
Gall? bitter—

Biron.
Therefore meet.

Dum.
Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

Mar.
Name it.

Dum.
Fair lady,—

Mar.
Say you so? fair lord:
Take that for your fair lady.

Dum.
Please it you;
As much in private; and I'll bid adieu.

Cath.
What, was your visor made without a tongue?

Long.
I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

Cath.
O, for your reason! quickly, Sir; I long.

Long.
You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless vizor half.

Cath.
Veal, quoth the Dutch man; is not veal calf?

Long.
A calf, fair lady?

Cath.
No, a fair lord calf.

Long.
Let's part the word.

Cath.
No, I'll not be your half;
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.

Long.
Look, how you butt your self in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

Cath.
Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Long.
One word in private with you, ere I die.

Cath.
Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry.

Boyet.
The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
    As is the razor's edge, invincible,
  Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen:
    Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings;
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

Ros.
Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

Biron.
By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff.—

King.
Farewel, mad wenches; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King and Lords. SCENE VI.

Prin.
Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.
Are these the Breed of wits so wondred at?

Boyet.
Tapers they are with your sweet breaths puft out.

Ros.
Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

Prin.
O poverty in wit, kingly poor flout!
Will they not (think you) hang themselves to night?
  Or ever, but in vizors, shew their faces?
This pert Biron was out of count'nance quite.

Ros.
O! they were all in lamentable cases.
The King was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin.
Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar.
Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
No, point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

Cath.
Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart;
And, trow you, what he call'd me?

Prin.
Qualm, perhaps.

Cath.
Yes, in good faith.

Prin.
Go, sickness as thou art!

Ros.
Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
But will you hear? the King is my love sworn.

Prin.
And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

Cath.
And Longaville was for my service born.

Mar.
Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.

Boyet.
Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.

Prin.
Will they return?

Boyet.
They will, they will, God knows;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore, change Favours; and, when they repair,
Blow, like sweet roses, in this summer air.

Prin.
How, blow? how, blow? speak to be understood.

&wlquo;Boyet.
&wlquo;^{6 note}

Prin.
Avaunt, perplexity! what shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?

Ros.
Good Madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd;
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd, like Moscovites, in * ^noteshapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow Shows, and Prologue vildly pen'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our Tent to us.

Boyet.
Ladies, withdraw, the Gallants are at hand.

Prin.
Whip to our Tents, as roes run o'er the land. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain in their own habits; Boyet, meeting them.

King.
Fair Sir, God save you! Where's the Princess?

Boyet.
Gone to her Tent.
Please it your Majesty, command me any service to her?

King.
That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

Boyet.
I will; and so will she, I know my lord. [Exit.

Biron.
This fellow picks up wit, as pidgeons peas;
And utters it again, when Jove doth please:
He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassals, meetings, markets, fairs:
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This Gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he,
That kist away his hand in courtesie;
This is the ape of form, Monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
A mean most mainly; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can; the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
^{7 note}This is the flower, that smiles on every one,
To shew his teeth, as white as whale his bone.—

And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King.
A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart,
That put Armado's Page out of his Part! SCENE VIII. Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Catharine, Boyet, and attendants.

Biron.
See, where it comes; ^{8 note}
behaviour, what wert thou,
'Till this man shew'd thee? and what art thou now?

King.
All hail, sweet Madam, and fair time of day!

Prin.
Fair in all hail is foul, as I conceive.

King.
Construe my speeches better, if you may.

Prin.
Then wish me better, I will give you leave.

King.
We come to visit you, and purpose now
  To lead you to our Court; vouchsafe it then.

Prin.
This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow:
  Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.

King.
Rebuke me not for That, which you provoke;
  ^{9 note}

Prin.
You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke:
  For virtue's office never breaks mens troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
  As the unsully'd lilly, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
  I would not yield to be your house's guest:
So much I hate a breaking cause to be
Of heav'nly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

King.
O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
  Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

Prin.
Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
  We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game.
A mess of Russians left us but of late.

King.
How, Madam? Russians?

Prin.
Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.

Ros.
Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
My lady (to the manner of the days)
In courtesie gives undeserving praise.
We four, indeed, confronted were with four
In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.

I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

Biron.
This jest is dry to me. Fair, gentle, sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light; your capacity
Is of that nature, as to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.

Ros.
This proves you wise and rich; for in my eye—

Biron.
I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Ros.
But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

Biron.
O, I am yours, and all that I possess.

Ros.
All the fool mine?

Biron.
I cannot give you less.

Ros.
Which of the vizors was it, that you wore?

Biron.
Where? when? what vizor? why demand you this?

Ros.
There, then, that vizor, that superfluous Case,
That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face.

King.
We are descried; they'll mock us now downright.

Dum.
Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.

Prin.
Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your Highness sad?

Ros.
Help, hold his brows, he'll swoon: why look you pale?
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

Biron.
Thus pour the stars down plagues for Perjury.
  Can any face of brass hold longer out?
Here stand I, lady, dart thy skill at me;
  Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout,
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
  Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
  Nor never more in Russian habit wait.

O! never will I trust to speeches pen'd,
  Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue;
Nor never come in vizor to my friend,
  Nor woo in rhime, like a blind harper's song.
Taffata-phrases, silken terms precise,
  Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical, these summer-flies,
  Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
  By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be exprest
  In russet yeas, and honest kersie noes:
And to begin, wench, (so God help me, law!)
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Ros.
Sans, sans, I pray you.

Biron.
Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage: bear with me, I am sick.
I'll leave it by degrees: soft, let us see;
Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three;
They are infected, in their hearts it lyes;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes:
These lords are visited, you are not free;
For the lord's tokens on you both I see.

Prin.
No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.

Biron.
Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.

Ros.
It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

Biron.
Peace, for I will not have to do with you.

Ros.
Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

Biron.
Speak for your selves, my wit is at an end.

King.
Teach us, sweet Madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.

Prin.
The fairest is confession.

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd?

King.
Madam, I was.

Prin.
And were you well advis'd?

King.
I was, fair Madam.

Prin.
When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear?

King.
That more than all the world I did respect her.

Prin.
When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

King.
Upon mine honour, no.

Prin.
Peace, peace, forbear:
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.

King.
Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

Prin.
I will, and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

Ros.
Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

Prin.
God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

King.
What mean you, Madam? by my life, my troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros.
By heav'n, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, Sir, again.

King.
My faith, and this, to th' Princess I did give;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin.
Pardon me, Sir, this jewel did she wear:
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my Dear.
What? will you have me; or your pearl again?

Biron.
Neither of either: I remit both twain.
I see the trick on't; here was a consent,
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment)
To dash it, like a Christmas comedy.
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,

Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
That ^{1 note}

Boyet.
Full merrily
Hath this brave Manage, this Career, been run.

Biron.
Lo, he is tilting strait. Peace, I have done. Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit, thou partest a fair fray.

Cost.
O lord, Sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no.

Biron.
What, are there but three?

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

Biron.
And three times three is nine?

Cost.

Not so, Sir, under correction, Sir; I hope, it is not so.

You cannot beg us, Sir; I can assure you, Sir, we know what we know: I hope, three times thrice, Sir—

Biron.

Is not nine.

Cost.

Under correction, Sir, we know where until it doth amount.

Biron.

By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost.

O lord, Sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, Sir.

Biron.

How much is it?

Cost.

O lord, Sir, the parties themselves, the actors, Sir, will shew 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?

Cost.

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 stand for him.

Biron.

Go bid them prepare.

Cost.

We will turn it finely off, Sir, we will take some care.

King.

Biron, they will shame us; let them not approach.

Biron.
We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis some policy
To have one Show worse than the King's and his Company.

King.
I say, they shall not come.

Prin.
Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how.
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Dies in the zeal of that 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. SCENE IX. Enter Armado.

Arm.

Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.

Prin.

Doth this man serve God?

Biron.

Why ask you?

Prin.

He speaks not like a man of God's making.

Arm.

That's all one, my fair, sweet, hony monarch; for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal coupplement.

King.

Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies: he presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish-curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabeus.

Biron.
There are five in the first Show.

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

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 such, take each one in's vein.

King.
The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. Enter Costard for Pompey.

Cost.
I Pompey am—

Boyet.
You lye, you are not he.

Cost.
I Pompey am—

Boyet.
^{3 note}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 half-penny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.