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Judas I am, ycleped Machabeus.

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt, is plain Judas.
Biron. A kiffing traitor. How art thou prov'd
Judas?

. Hol. Judas I am.

Dum. The more fhame 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 a 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 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 counte

nance.

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. An thou wert a lion, we would do fo.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude; nay, why doft thou ftay?
Dum. For the latter end of his name.

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

away.

Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for monfieur Judas; it grows dark, he may ftumble.

Prin. Alas! poor Machabeus, how he hath been

baited!

Enter

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,
Dum. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

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

Biron. This can't be Hector.

Dum. He's a God, or a Painter, for he makes faces, Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lancs Almighty,

Gave Hector a gift,

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.

Biron. A lemon.

Long. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances Almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ;

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

I am that Flower.

Dum. That mint.

Long. That columbine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longueville, rein thy tongue. Long. I muft rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hefter'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;

[To the Princefs.] Sweet Royalty, beftow on me the fenfe of hearing.

Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted, Arm. I do adore thy fweet Grace's flipper.

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Boyet,

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not, by the yard.

Arm, This Hector far furmounted Hannibal. Coft. The Party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What mean'ft thou?

Coft. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is caft away; fhe's quick, the child brags in her belly already. 'Tis yours.

Arm. Doft thou infamonize me among Potentates? Thou fhalt die.

Coft, Then fhall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him.

Dum. Moft rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pom pey! Pompey the huge!

Dum. Hector trembles,

Biron. Pompey is mov'd; more Ates, more Ates3; ftir them on, ftir them on.

Dum. Hector will challenge him,

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will fup a flea,

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

Caft. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: I'll flash; I'll do't by the Sword: I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.

*

Dum. Room for the incenfed Worthies.

Coft. I'll do't in my fhirt.

Dum. Moft refolute Pompey!

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do ye not fee, Pompey is unçafing for the combat: what mean you? you will lofe

3 Mare Ates.] That is, more inftigation. Ate was the mifchievous goddefs that incited bloodshed.

your reputation.

- my arms-] The weapons and armour which he wore in the character of Pompey.

Arm,

Arm. Gentlemen, and foldiers, 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 reafon have you for't?

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no fhirt; I go woolward for penance.

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

SCENE X,

Enter Macard.

Mac. God fave you, Madam!

Princ. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft our merriment.

Mac. I'm forry, Madam; for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The King your fatherPrin. Dead, for my life.

Mac. Even fo: my Tale is told.

Biron. Worthies, away; the Scene begins to cloud, Arm. For my own part, I breathe free breath; I

4 It was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linnen ;] This may poffibly allude to a ftory, well known in our author's time, to this Effect. A Spaniard at Rome falling in a duel, as he lay expiring, an intimate friend, by chance, came by, and offered him his bett fervices. The dy ing man told him he had but one request to make to him, but conjured him by the memory of their past friendship punctually

to comply with it, which was, not to fuffer him to be ftript, but to bury him as he lay, in the habit he then had on. When this was promifed, the Spaniard clofed his eyes, and expired with great compofure and refignation. But his friend's curiosity prevailing over his good faith, he had him fript, and found, to his great furprise, that he was without a fhirt.

P 4

WARBURTON,

have

1

have seen the days of wrong through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right myself like a foldier. [Exeunt Worthics.

King. How fares your Majefty?

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not fo; I do befeech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I fay.-I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-fad foul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom to excufe, or hide, The liberal oppofition of our fpirits; If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converfe of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewel, worthy lord; An heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue": Excufe me fo, coming fo fhort of thanks, For my great fuit fo eafily obtain❜d.

King. The extreme part of time extremely forms All caufes to the purpose of his speed;

And often, at his very loofe, decides

That, which long Procefs could not arbitrate,
And though the mourning brow of Progeny
Forbid the fmiling courtesy of love,

The holy fuit which fain it would convince;

-have feen the days of WRONG through the little hole of difcretion,-] This has no meaning; we fhould read, the day of RIGHT, i. e. I have forefeen that a day will come when I fhall have justice done me, and therefore I prudently referve myfelf for that time.

WARBURTON.

In the converfe of breath,-] Perhaps converfe may, in this line, mean interchange.

Yet

Editions; but, furely, without either Senfe or Truth. None are more humble in Speech, than they who labour under any Oppref fion. The Princess is defiring, her Grief may apologize for her not expreffing her Obligations at large; and my Correction is conformable to that Sentiment. Befides, there is an Antithefis be. tween heavy and nimble; but between heavy and bumble, there is THEOBALD. which fain it would

none.

8

7 An beavy Heart bears not an
humble Tongue :] Thus all the convince ;] We must read,

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