Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

No, sir, but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

Ber.

And three times thrice is nine.

Cost.

Not so, sir, under correction, sir, I hope it is not so.

You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir, we know what we know.

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir—

Ber. Is not nine.

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.

Ber. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reck’ning, sir.

Ber. How much is it?

Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as [they] say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, sir.

Ber. Art thou one of the Worthies?

Cost. It pleas’d them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great; for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.

Ber. Go bid them prepare.

Cost.

We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.

Exit.

King.

Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.

Ber.

We are shame-proof, my lord; and ’tis some policy

To have one show worse than the King’s and his company.

King.

I say they shall not come.

Prin.

Nay, my good lord, let me o’errule you now.

That sport best pleases that doth [least] know how:

Where zeal strives to content, and the contents

Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.

Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,

When great things laboring perish in their birth.

Ber.

A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Braggart [Armado].

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

[Converses apart with the King, and delivers him a paper.]

Prin. Doth this man serve God?

Ber. Why ask you?

Prin. ’A speaks not like a man of God his making.

Arm. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical, too too vain, too too vain: but we will put it (as they say) to fortuna de la [guerra]. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement.

Exit.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies: he presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado’s page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabeus;

And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,

These four will change habits, and present the other five.

Ber.

There is five in the first show.

King.

You are deceived, ’tis not so.

Ber. The pedant, the braggart, 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.

Cost.

“I Pompey am”—

Ber.

You lie, you are not he.

Cost.

“I Pompey am”—

Boyet.

With libbard’s head on knee.

Ber.

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

Cost.

“I Pompey am, Pompey surnam’d the Big”—

Dum.

“The Great.”

Cost.

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.

[Prin.] Great thanks, great Pompey.

Cost. ’Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect. I made a little fault in ‘Great.’

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

Enter Curate [Sir Nathaniel] for Alexander.

Nath.

“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 too right.

Ber.

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

Prin.

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

Nath.

“When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander”—

Boyet.

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

Ber. Pompey the Great—

Cost. Your servant, and Costard.

Ber. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Cost. [To Nathaniel.] O sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scrap’d 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 dash’d. He is a marvellous good neighbor, 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.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter Pedant [Holofernes] for Judas, and the Boy [Moth] for Hercules.

Hol.

“Great Hercules is presented by this imp,

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

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.”

[Aside.]

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

[Moth retires.]

“Judas I am”—

Dum. A Judas!

Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.

“Judas I am, ycliped Machabeus.”

Dum. Judas Machabeus clipt is plain Judas.

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

Hol. “Judas I am”—

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas.

Hol. What mean you, sir?

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself.

Hol. Begin, sir, you are my elder.

Ber. Well follow’d: Judas was hang’d on an elder.

Hol. I will not be put out of countenance.

Ber. Because thou hast no face.

Hol. What is this?

Boyet. A cittern-head.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.

Ber. A death’s face in a ring.

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

Boyet. The pommel of Caesar’s falchion.

Dum. The carv’d-bone face on a flask.

Ber. Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.

Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Ber. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now forward, for we have put thee in countenance.

Hol. You have put me out of countenance.

Ber. False, we have given thee faces.

Hol. But you have out-fac’d them all.

Ber. And 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?

Dum. For the latter end of his name.