_Biron._ Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch. _Dum._ Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 610 _Biron._ Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now forward; for we have put thee in countenance. _Hol._ You have put me out of countenance. _Biron._ False: we have given thee faces. _Hol._ But you have out-faced them all. 615 _Biron._ 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? _Dum._ For the latter end of his name. _Biron._ For the ass to the Jude; give it him:—Jud-as, away! 620 _Hol._ This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. _Boyet._ A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble. [_Hol. retires._ _Prin._ Alas, poor Maccabæus, how hath he been baited! _Enter_ ARMADO, _for Hector_. _Biron._ Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms. 625 _Dum._ 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? _King._ I think Hector was not so clean-timbered. 630 _Long._ His leg is too big for Hector’s. _Dum._ More calf, certain. _Boyet._ No; he is best indued in the small. _Biron._ This cannot be Hector. _Dum._ He’s a god or a painter; for he makes faces. 635 _Arm._ The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift,— _Dum._ A gilt nutmeg. _Biron._ A lemon. _Long._ Stuck with cloves. 640 _Dum._ No, cloven. _Arm._ 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; yea 645 From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower,— _Dum._ That mint. _Long._ That columbine. _Arm._ Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 650 _Long._ I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. _Dum._ Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound. _Arm._ 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. 655 _Prin._ Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. _Arm._ I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper. _Boyet._ [_Aside to Dum._] Loves her by the foot. _Dum._ [_Aside to Boyet_] He may not by the yard. _Arm._ This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,— 660 _Cost._ The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. _Arm._ What meanest thou? _Cost._ Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench is cast away: she’s quick; the child brags in 665 her belly already: ’tis yours.