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Long. Stuck with cloves.
Arm. The armipotent Mars, of launces the Almighty,
Dum. That mint.
Lang. That columbine.
Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I muft rather give it the rein; for it runs a gainst Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector's a grey-hound.
Arm. The fweet war-man is dead and rotten;
Sweet Royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Dum. He may not by the yard.
Coft. The party is gone, fellow Hector, fhe is gone; The is two months on her way.
Arm. What mean'ft thou?
Coft. Faith, unless you play the honeft 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
Coft. Then fhall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta, that is quick by him; and hång'd for Pompey, that is dead by him. Dum. Moft 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 Atès, more Atès, 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.
Coft. I will not fight with a pole like a northern man I'll flash; I'll do't by the fword: 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. Mafter, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not fee Pompey is uncafing for the combat? what mean you? you will lofe your reputation.
Arm. Gentlemen and foldiers, pardon me, I will not combat in my fhirt.
Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey hath made the challenge.
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
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 difh-clout of Jaquenetta's, and that he wears next his heart for a favour.
SCENE X. Enter Macard.
Mac. God fave you, Madam.
Prin. Welcome, Macard, but that thou interrupteft our merriment.
Mac. I am 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 mine own part, I breathe free breath; I have feen the day of right through the little hole of difcretion, and I will right my felf like a foldier.
King. How fares your Majefty?
This fide is Hiems, winter.
The SON G.
When daizies pied, and violets blue,
Cuckow, cuckow: 0 word of fear,
When Jhepherds pipe on eaten firars,
And maidens bleach their summer fmocks ;
Cuckow, cuckow: O word of fear,
When ificles bang by the wall,
And Dick the fhepherd blows his nail;
And milk comes frozen bome in pail;
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And Marian's nofe looks red and raw ;
While greafie Jone doth keel the pot.
Arm. The words of Mercury
The End of the SECOND VOLUME.