Hol.
Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
  Whose club kill'd Cerberus that three-headed canus;
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.
Keep some state in thy Exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth.

Hol.
Judas I am.

Dum.
A Judas.

Hol.
Not Iscariot, Sir,
Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum.
Judas Machabeus 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 the 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 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.
False, we have given thee faces.

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

Biron.
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.

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 Machabeus, 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 so clean timber'd.

Long.

His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum.

More calf, certain.

Boyet.

No; he is best indu'd in the small.

Biron.

This can't be Hector.

Dum.

He's a God or a 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 so breathed, that certain he would fight ye
  From morn 'till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower.

Dum.

That mint.

Long.

That cullambine.

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 grey-hound.

Arm.
The sweet 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 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 mean'st 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.

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.

Renown'd Pompey!

Biron.

Greater than great, great, great, great 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't by the sword: I pray you let me borrow my arms again.

Dum.

Room for the incensed worthies.

Cost.

I'll do't 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.

Arm.

Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Biron.

What reason have you for't?

Arm.

The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt, I go woolward for penance.

Boyet.

True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen; since when, I'll be sworn he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a favour.