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We will with some strange pastime solace them,

Such as the shortness of the time can shape,

For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours

Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

King.

Away, away, no time shall be omitted

That will be time, and may by us be fitted.

Ber. [Allons! allons!]

Sow’d cockle reap’d no corn,

And justice always whirls in equal measure:

Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;

If so, our copper buys no better treasure.

[Exeunt.]

¶

Enter the Pedant [Holofernes], the Curate [Sir Nathaniel], and Dull.

Hol. Satis quid sufficit.

Nath. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious: pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the King’s, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

Hol. Novi [hominem] tanquam te. His humor is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.