COSTARD: O Lord, sir, they would know
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.
BEROWNE: What, are there but three?
COSTARD: No, sir; but it is vara fine,
For every one pursents three. 
BEROWNE: And three times thrice is nine.
COSTARD: 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,--
BEROWNE: Is not nine.
COSTARD: Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount.
BEROWNE: By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.
COSTARD: O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living
by reckoning, sir. 
BEROWNE: How much is it?
COSTARD: 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.
BEROWNE: Art thou one of the Worthies?
COSTARD: It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the
Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of
the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.
BEROWNE: Go, bid them prepare. 
COSTARD: We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take
FERDINAND: Berowne, they will shame us: let them not approach.
BEROWNE: We are shame-proof, my lord: and tis some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and his company.
FERDINAND: I say they shall not come.
PRINCESS: 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 labouring perish in their birth.
BEROWNE: A right description of our sport, my lord.
[Enter DON ARMADO]
DON ARMADO: Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal
sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.
[Converses apart with FERDINAND, and delivers him a paper]
PRINCESS: Doth this man serve God?
BEROWNE: Why ask you?
PRINCESS: He speaks not like a man of God's making.
DON ARMADO: 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!
FERDINAND: 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 Maccabaeus: And if
these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other five.
BEROWNE: There is five in the first show. 
FERDINAND: You are deceived; 'tis not so.
BEROWNE: 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.
FERDINAND: 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. 
BEROWNE: Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends
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.'
BEROWNE: My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
[Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for Alexander]
SIR 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.
BEROWNE: Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling knight. 
PRINCESS: The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander.
SIR NATHANIEL: When in the world I lived, 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.
[SIR 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.
[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.
Judas I am,--
DUMAIN: A Judas!
HOLOFERNES: Not Iscariot, sir.
Judas I am, ycleped Maccabaeus.
DUMAIN: Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas. 
BEROWNE: 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.
BEROWNE: Well followed: 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.
DUMAIN: 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.
DUMAIN: The carved-bone face on a flask.
BEROWNE: Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch.
DUMAIN: 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 out-faced 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?
DUMAIN: 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 DON ARMADO, for Hector]
BEROWNE: Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.
DUMAIN: Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.
FERDINAND: Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.
BOYET: But is this Hector?
FERDINAND: 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 endued in the small.
BEROWNE: This cannot be Hector. 
DUMAIN: He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.
DON ARMADO: The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,--
DUMAIN: A gilt nutmeg.
BEROWNE: A lemon.
LONGAVILLE: Stuck with cloves.
DUMAIN: No, cloven.
DON 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.
DON 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.
DON ARMADO: The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet 
chuck , 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.
DON 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.
DON ARMADO: This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,--
COSTARD: The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she
is two months on her way. 
DON ARMADO: What meanest thou?
COSTARD: 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.
DON ARMADO: Dost thou infamonize me among
potentates? thou shalt die.
COSTARD: Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that is
quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him.
DUMAIN: Most rare Pompey!
BOYET: Renowned Pompey! 
BEROWNE: Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the Huge!
DUMAIN: Hector trembles.
BEROWNE: Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir them
on! stir them on!
DUMAIN: Hector will challenge him.
BEROWNE: Ay, if a' have no man's blood in's belly than will
sup a flea.
DON ARMADO: By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
COSTARD: I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man: 
I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you,
let me borrow my arms again.
DUMAIN: Room for the incensed Worthies!
COSTARD: I'll do it in my shirt.
DUMAIN: Most resolute Pompey!
MOTH: Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you
not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean
you? You will lose your reputation.
DON ARMADO: Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me;
I will not combat in my shirt. 
DUMAIN: You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.
DON ARMADO: Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
BEROWNE: What reason have you for't?
DON ARMADO: The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go
woolward for penance.
BOYET: True, and it was enjoined 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 favour.
[The scene continues . . .]