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Ber.

Your nose smells ‘no’ in [this], most tender-smelling knight.

Prin.

The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.

Nath.

“When in the world I liv’d, I was the world’s commander”—

Boyet.

Most true, ’tis right; you were so, Alisander.

Ber. Pompey the Great—

Cost. Your servant, and Costard.

Ber. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

Cost. [To Nathaniel.] O sir, you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scrap’d out of the painted cloth for this. Your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given to Ajax; he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. [Nathaniel retires.] There an’t shall please you, a foolish mild man, an honest man, look you, and soon dash’d. He is a marvellous good neighbor, faith, and a very good bowler; but for Alisander—alas, you see how ’tis—a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.