A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble. [HOLOFERNES retires] PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! Enter 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. KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. BOYET. But is this Hector? DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector's. DUMAIN. More calf, certain. BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small. BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector. DUMAIN. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces. 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. 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 ye, From morn till night out of his pavilion. I am that flower- DUMAIN. 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. DUMAIN. 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. [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD]