William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William Shakespeare

COSTARD.

       ‘I Pompey am’—

       BEROWNE.

       You lie, you are not he.

       COSTARD.

       ‘I Pompey am’—

       BOYET.

       With libbard’s head on knee.

       BEROWNE.

       Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends with thee.

       COSTARD.

       ‘I Pompey am, Pompey surnam’d the Big’—

       DUMAINE.

       ‘The Great.’

       COSTARD.

       It is ‘Great,’ sir; ‘Pompey surnam’d the Great,

       That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to

       sweat:

       And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,

       And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

       If your ladyship would say ‘Thanks, Pompey,’ I had done.

       PRINCESS.

       Great thanks, great Pompey.

       COSTARD.

       ‘Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect.

       I made a little fault in ‘Great.’

       BEROWNE.

       My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.

       [Enter SIR NATHANIEL armed, for ALEXANDER.]

       NATHANIEL.

       ‘When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander;

       By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:

       My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander’—

       BOYET.

       Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right.

       BEROWNE.

       Your nose smells ‘no’ in this, most tender-smelling knight.

       PRINCESS.

       The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.

       NATHANIEL.

       ‘When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander;’—

       BOYET.

       Most true; ‘tis right, you were so, Alisander.

       BEROWNE.

       Pompey the Great,—

       COSTARD.

       Your servant, and Costard.

       BEROWNE.

       Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

       COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel.] O! sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. [Nathaniel retires.] There, an’t shall please you: a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dashed! He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for Alisander,—alas! you see how ‘tis—a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies acoming will speak their mind in some other sort.

       PRINCESS.

       Stand aside, good Pompey.

       [Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for JUDAS; and MOTH armed, for

       HERCULES.]

       HOLOFERNES.

       ‘Great Hercules is presented by this imp,

       Whose club kill’d Cerberus, that three-headed canis;

       And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,

       Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.

       Quoniam he seemeth in minority,

       Ergo I come with this apology.’

       Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.—[MOTH retires.]

       ‘Judas I am.’—

       DUMAINE.

       A Judas!

       HOLOFERNES.

       Not Iscariot, sir.

       ‘Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.’

       DUMAINE.

       Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

       BEROWNE.

       A kissing traitor. How art thou prov’d Judas?

       HOLOFERNES.

       ‘Judas I am.’—

       DUMAINE.

       The more shame for you, Judas.

       HOLOFERNES.

       What mean you, sir?

       BOYET.

       To make Judas hang himself.

       HOLOFERNES.

       Begin, sir; you are my elder.

       BEROWNE.

       Well follow’d: Judas was hanged on an elder.

       HOLOFERNES.

       I will not be put out of countenance.

       BEROWNE.

       Because thou hast no face.

       HOLOFERNES.

       What is this?

       BOYET.

       A cittern-head.

       DUMAINE.

       The head of a bodkin.

       BEROWNE.

       A death’s face in a ring.

       @@@

       LONGAVILLE.

       The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

       BOYET.

       The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.

       DUMAINE.

       The carved-bone face on a flask.

       BEROWNE.

       Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.

       DUMAINE.

       Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

       BEROWNE.

       Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer.

       And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance.

       HOLOFERNES.

       You have put me out of countenance.

       BEROWNE.

       False: we have given thee faces.

       HOLOFERNES.

       But you have outfaced them all.

       BEROWNE.

       An thou wert a lion we would do so.

       BOYET.

       Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.

       And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

       DUMAINE.

       For the latter end of his name.

       BEROWNE.

       For the ass to the Jude? give it him:—Jud-as, away!

       HOLOFERNES.

       This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

       BOYET.

       A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble.

       PRINCESS.

       Alas! poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited.

       [Enter ARMADO armed, for HECTOR.]