DUMAINE.
The “Great”.
COSTARD.
It is “Great”, sir; Pompey surnamed the Great,
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat.
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.
If your ladyship would say, “Thanks, Pompey”, I had done.
PRINCESS.
Great thanks, great Pompey.
COSTARD.
’Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect. I made a little fault in “Great”.
BEROWNE.
My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy.
Enter Nathaniel, the Curate, for Alexander.
NATHANIEL.
When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander;
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might.
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander.
BOYET.
Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right.
BEROWNE.
Your nose smells “no” in this, most tender-smelling knight.
PRINCESS.
The conqueror is dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander.