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Ber. Art thou one of the Worthies?

Cost. It pleas’d them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great; for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.

Ber. Go bid them prepare.

Cost.

We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care.

Exit.

King.

Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach.

Ber.

We are shame-proof, my lord; and ’tis some policy

To have one show worse than the King’s and his company.

King.

I say they shall not come.

Prin.

Nay, my good lord, let me o’errule you now.

That sport best pleases that doth [least] know how:

Where zeal strives to content, and the contents

Dies in the zeal of that which it presents.

Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,

When great things laboring perish in their birth.

Ber.

A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter Braggart [Armado].

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

[Converses apart with the King, and delivers him a paper.]