Prin.
Alas, poor Machabeus, how hath he been baited!
Enter Braggart [Armado for Hector].
Ber. 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 Troyan 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’s.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boyet. No, he is best indu’d in the small.
Ber. 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.
Ber.
A lemon.
Long.
Stuck with cloves.
Dum.
No, cloven.
Arm.
Peace!—
“The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, yea,
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower”—
Dum.
That mint.
Long.
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 breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the Princess.] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.
Berowne steps forth [to whisper to Costard and then returns to his place].
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 meanest thou?
Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, 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. Renowned Pompey!
Ber. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!
Dum. Hector trembles.
Ber. Pompey is mov’d. More Ates, more Ates! stir them [on], stir them on!
Dum. Hector will challenge him.
Ber. Ay, if ’a have no more man’s blood in his 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 Northren man; I’ll slash, I’ll do it by the sword. I bepray you let me borrow my arms again.
Dum. Room for the incens’d 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.
Ber. 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 linen; since when, I’ll be sworn he wore none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta’s, and that ’a wears next his heart for a favor.
Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.
Marc.
God save you, madam!
Prin.
Welcome, Marcade,
But that thou interruptest our merriment.
Marc.
I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring
Is
