Shakespeare's First Folio
Chapter 129 : Much vpon this tis: and might not you Forestall our sport, to make vs thus vntrue?Do n

Much vpon this tis: and might not you Forestall our sport, to make vs thus vntrue?

Do not you know my Ladies foot by'th squier?

And laugh vpon the apple of her eie?

And stand betweene her backe sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, iesting merrilie?

You put our Page out: go, you are alowd.

Die when you will, a smocke shall be your shrowd.

You leere vpon me, do you? There's an eie Wounds like a Leaden sword

Boy. Full merrily hath this braue manager, this carreere bene run

Ber. Loe, he is tilting straight. Peace, I haue don.

Enter Clowne.

Welcome pure wit, thou part'st a faire fray

Clo. O Lord sir, they would kno, Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no

Ber. What, are there but three?

Clo. No sir, but it is vara fine, For euerie one pursents three

Ber. And three times thrice is nine

Clo. Not so sir, vnder correction sir, I hope it is not so.

You cannot beg vs sir, I can a.s.sure you sir, we know what we know: I hope sir three times thrice sir

Ber. Is not nine

Clo. Vnder correction sir, wee know where-vntill it doth amount

Ber. By Ioue, I alwaies tooke three threes for nine

Clow. O Lord sir, it were pittie you should get your liuing by reckning sir

Ber. How much is it?

Clo. O Lord sir, the parties themselues, the actors sir will shew where-vntill it doth amount: for mine owne part, I am (as they say, but to perfect one man in one poore man) Pompion the great sir

Ber. Art thou one of the Worthies?

Clo. It pleased them to thinke me worthie of Pompey the great: for mine owne part, I know not the degree of the Worthie, but I am to stand for him

Ber. Go, bid them prepare.

Enter.

Clo. We will turne it finely off sir, we wil take some care

King. Berowne, they will shame vs: Let them not approach

Ber. We are shame-proofe my Lord: and 'tis some policie, to haue one shew worse then the Kings and his companie

Kin. I say they shall not come

Qu. Nay my good Lord, let me ore-rule you now; That sport best pleases, that doth least know how.

Where Zeale striues to content, and the contents Dies in the Zeale of that which it presents: Their forme confounded, makes most forme in mirth, When great things labouring perish in their birth

Ber. A right description of our sport my Lord.

Enter Braggart.

Brag. Annointed, I implore so much expence of thy royall sweet breath, as will vtter a brace of words

Qu. Doth this man serue G.o.d?

Ber. Why aske you?

Qu. He speak's not like a man of G.o.d's making

Brag. That's all one my faire sweet honie Monarch: For I protest, the Schoolmaster is exceeding fantasticall: Too too vaine, too too vaine. But we wil put it (as they say) to Fortuna delaguar, I wish you the peace of minde most royall cupplement

King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies; He presents Hector of Troy, the Swaine Pompey y great, the Parish Curate Alexander, Armadoes Page Hercules, the Pedant Iudas Machabeus: and if these foure Worthies in their first shew thriue, these foure will change habites, and present the other fiue

Ber. There is fiue in the first shew

Kin. You are deceiued, tis not so

Ber. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge-Priest, the Foole, and the Boy, Abate throw at Novum, and the whole world againe, Cannot p.r.i.c.ke out fiue such, take each one in's vaine

Kin. The s.h.i.+p is vnder saile, and here she coms amain.

Enter Pompey.

Clo. I Pompey am

Ber. You lie, you are not he

Clo. I Pompey am

Boy. With Libbards head on knee

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

Clo. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big

Du. The great

Clo. It is great sir: Pompey surnam'd the great: That oft in field, with Targe and s.h.i.+eld, did make my foe to sweat: And trauailing along this coast, I heere am come by chance, And lay my Armes before the legs of this sweet La.s.se of France.

If your Ladis.h.i.+p would say thankes Pompey, I had done

La. Great thankes great Pompey

Clo. Tis not so much worth: but I hope I was perfect.

I made a little fault in great

Ber. My hat to a halfe-penie, Pompey prooues the best Worthie.

Enter Curate for Alexander.