Love's Labour's Lost By William Shakespeare Act V: Scene 2

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.]

BEROWNE.
Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms.

DUMAINE.
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?

DUMAINE.
I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd.

LONGAVILLE.
His leg is too big for Hector's.

DUMAINE.
More calf, certain.

BOYET.
No; he is best indued in the small.

BEROWNE.
This cannot be Hector.

DUMAINE.
He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces.

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

DUMAINE.
A gilt nutmeg.

BEROWNE.
A lemon.

LONGAVILLE.
Stuck with cloves.

DUMAINE.
No, cloven.

ARMADO.
Peace!
'The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breath'd that certain he would fight ye,
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,' —

DUMAINE.
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.

DUMAINE.
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.

DUMAINE.
[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; the child brags in her belly already;
'tis yours.

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.

DUMAINE.
Most rare Pompey!

BOYET.
Renowned Pompey!

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