Love’s Labour’s Lost

the hedge-priest, the fool and the boy:⁠—

Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

King

The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

Enter Costard, for Pompey. Costard

I Pompey am⁠—

Boyet

You lie, you are not he.

Costard

I Pompey am⁠—

Boyet

With libbard’s head on knee.

Biron

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

Costard

I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big⁠—

Dumain The Great. Costard

It is, “Great,” sir:⁠—
Pompey surnamed 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.” Biron My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy. Enter Sir Nathaniel, for Alexander. Nathaniel

When in the world I lived, 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 too right.

Biron

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 lived, I was the world’s commander⁠—

Boyet

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

Biron Pompey the Great⁠— Costard Your servant, and Costard. Biron 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 a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort. Princess Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes, for Judas; and Moth, 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—

Dumain A Judas! Holofernes

Not Iscariot, sir.
Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus.

Dumain

Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas.

Biron

A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?

Holofernes

Judas I am⁠—

Dumain

The more shame for you, Judas.

Holofernes

What mean you, sir?

Boyet

To make Judas hang himself.

Holofernes

Begin, sir; you are my elder.

Biron

Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.

Holofernes

I will not be put out of countenance.

Biron

Because thou hast no face.

Holofernes

What is this?

Boyet

A cittern-head.

Dumain

The head of a bodkin.

Biron

A Death’s face in a ring.

Longaville

The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

Boyet

The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.

Dumain

The carved-bone face on a flask.

Biron

Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.

Dumain

Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron

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.

Biron

False; we have given thee faces.

Holofernes

But you have out-faced them all.

Biron

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?

Dumain

For the latter end of his name.

Biron

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. Holofernes retires.

Princess

Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited!

Enter Armado, for Hector. Biron Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms. Dumain 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-timbered. Longaville His leg is too big for Hector’s. Dumain More calf, certain. Boyet No; he is best indued in the small. Biron This cannot be Hector. Dumain He’s a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Armado

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift⁠—

Dumain A gilt nutmeg. Biron A lemon. Longaville Stuck with cloves. Dumain No, cloven. Armado

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—

Dumain

That mint.

Longaville

That columbine.

Armado Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Longaville I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. Dumain Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound. Armado 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. Princess

Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

Armado I do adore thy sweet grace’s slipper. Boyet Aside to Dumain. Loves her by the foot⁠— Dumain Aside to Boyet. He may not by the yard. Armado This Hector far surmounted Hannibal⁠— Costard The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. Armado What meanest thou? Costard Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away: she’s quick;