Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the
Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir
Hector will challenge him.
Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in his belly than will
sup a flea.
By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
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
Room for the incensed Worthies!
I'll do it in my shirt.
Most resolute Pompey!
Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see
Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose
Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt.
You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge.
Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
What reason have you for 't?
The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward
True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen;
since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dish-clout of
Jaquenetta's, and that a' wears next his heart for a favour.
[Enter MONSIEUR MARCADE, a messenger.]
God save you, madam!
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —
Dead, for my life!
Even so: my tale is told.
Worthies away! the scene begins to cloud.
For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the
day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will
right myself like a soldier.
How fares your Majesty?
Boyet, prepare: I will away to-night.
Madam, not so: I do beseech you stay.
Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath; your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed,
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
I understand you not: my griefs are double.
Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents;
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, —
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping and vain;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
Varying in subjects, as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace.