« PředchozíPokračovat »
Biron. Pompey the great,
Your servant, and Costárd. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away. Alisander.
Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis;-a little o'erparted:-But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort.
Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.
Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas; and Moth arm'd, for Hercules.
Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus:
Hol. Judas I am,—
Hol. Not Iscariot, sir. -Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus.
Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas. Biron. A kissing traitor:-How art thou prov'd Judas?
Hol. Judas I am,
Dum. The more shame for
Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder.
Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an
Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.
Hol. What is this?
Boy. 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, scarce
Boy. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a toothdrawer:
And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun
Hol. You have put me out of countenance.
Boy. 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.
Boy. A light for monsieur Judas: it he may stumble.
Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been
Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector.
Biron. 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 Trojan in respect of this.
Boy. But is this Hector?
Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd. Long. His leg is too big for Hector.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boy. No; he is best indued in the small.
Biron. 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.
Biron. A lemon.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea,
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 breath'd, he was a man. --But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Princess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing.
[Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted.
Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Dum. He may not by the yard.
Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,— Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way.
Arm. What meanest 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 whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey!
Boy. Renowned 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 it by the sword:-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Cost. I'll do it 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?