Moth. Horns.
Hol. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig.
Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy, [manu] cita—a gig of a cuckold’s horn.
Cost. And I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, and the heavens were so pleas’d that thou wert but my bastard, what a joyful father wouldest thou make me! Go to, thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers’ ends, as they say.
Hol. O, I smell false Latin, ‘dunghill’ for unguem.
Arm. Arts-man, preambulate, we will be singuled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain?
Hol. Or mons, the hill.
Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.
Hol. I do, sans question.
Arm. Sir, it is the King’s most sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the Princess at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon.
Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon. The word is well cull’d, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure.
Arm. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure ye, very good friend; for what is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee remember thy courtesy; I beseech thee apparel thy head; and among other [importunate] and most serious designs, and of great import indeed too—but let that pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace (by the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable: some certain special honors it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world; but let that pass. The very all of all is—but, sweet heart, I do implore secrety—that the King would have me present the Princess (sweet chuck) with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth (as it were), I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance.
Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. Sir [Nathaniel], as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be [rend’red] by our [assistance,] the King’s command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess, I say none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.
Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them?
Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself; and this gallant gentleman, Judas Machabeus; this swain (because of his great limb or joint) shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules.
Arm. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough for that Worthy’s thumb, he is not so big as the end of his club.
Hol. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in minority; his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose.
Moth. An excellent device! so if any of the audience hiss, you may cry, “Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the snake!” That is the way to make an offense gracious, though few have the grace to do it.
Arm. For the rest of the Worthies?
Hol. I will play three myself.
Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman!
Arm. Shall I tell you a thing?
Hol. We attend.
Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you follow.
Hol. Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no word all this while.
Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Hol. [Allons!] we will employ thee.
Dull.
I’ll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play
On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.
Hol.
Most dull, honest Dull! to our sport; away!
Exeunt.
¶
[Scene II]
Enter the Ladies: [the Princess, Maria, Katherine, and Rosaline].
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 cramm’d up in a sheet of paper,
Writ a’ 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 godhead wax,
For he hath been five thousand year a boy.
Kath.
Ay, and a shrowd unhappy gallows too.
Ros.
You’ll ne’er be friends with him, ’a kill’d your sister.
Kath.
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 ’a’ been [a] grandam ere she died.
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.
Ros.
What’s
