Shakespeare's First Folio
Chapter 131 : Lon. His legge is too big for Hector Dum. More Calfe certaine Boi. No, he is best indu

Lon. His legge is too big for Hector

Dum. More Calfe certaine

Boi. No, he is best indued in the small

Ber. This cannot be Hector

Dum. He's a G.o.d or a Painter, for he makes faces

Brag. The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the almighty, gaue Hector a gift

Dum. A gilt Nutmegge

Ber. A Lemmon

Lon. Stucke with Cloues

Dum. No clouen

Brag. The Armipotent Mars of Launces the almighty, Gaue Hector a gift, the heire of Illion; A man so breathed, that certaine he would fight: yea From morne till night, out of his Pauillion.

I am that Flower

Dum. That Mint

Long. That Cullambine

Brag. Sweet Lord Longauill reine thy tongue

Lon. I must rather giue it the reine: for it runnes against Hector

Dum. I, and Hector's a Grey-hound

Brag. The sweet War-man is dead and rotten, Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried: But I will forward with my deuice; Sweete Royaltie bestow on me the sence of hearing.

Berowne steppes forth.

Qu. Speake braue Hector, we are much delighted

Brag. i do adore thy sweet Graces slipper

Boy. Loues her by the foot

Dum. He may not by the yard

Brag. This Hector farre surmounted Hanniball.

The partie is gone

Clo. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two moneths on her way

Brag. What meanest thou?

Clo. Faith vnlesse you play the honest Troyan, the poore Wench is cast away: she's quick, the child brags in her belly alreadie: tis yours

Brag. Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates?

Thou shalt die

Clo. Then shall Hector be whipt for Iaquenetta that is quicke by him, and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead by him

Dum. Most rare Pompey

Boi. Renowned Pompey

Ber. Greater then great, great, great, great Pompey: Pompey the huge

Dum. Hector trembles

Ber. Pompey is moued, more Atees more Atees stirre them, or stirre them on

Dum. Hector will challenge him

Ber. I, if a'haue no more mans blood in's belly, then will sup a Flea

Brag. By the North-pole I do challenge thee

Clo. I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man; Ile slash, Ile do it by the sword: I pray you let mee borrow my Armes againe

Dum. Roome for the incensed Worthies

Clo. Ile do it in my s.h.i.+rt

Dum. Most resolute Pompey

Page. Master, let me take you a b.u.t.ton hole lower: Do you not see Pompey is vncasing for the combat: what meane you? you will lose your reputation

Brag. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will not combat in my s.h.i.+rt

Du. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the challenge

Brag. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will

Ber. What reason haue you for't?

Brag. The naked truth of it is, I haue no s.h.i.+rt, I go woolward for penance

Boy. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want of Linnen: since when, Ile be sworne he wore none, but a dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his heart for a fauour.

Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.

Mar. G.o.d saue you Madame

Qu. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interruptest our merriment