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Berowne steps forth [to whisper to Costard and then returns to his place].

Prin. Speak, brave Hector, we are much delighted.

Arm. I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper.

Boyet. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm.

“This Hector far surmounted Hannibal.

The party is gone”—

Cost. 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 her belly already. ’Tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang’d for Pompey that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey!

Boyet. Renowned Pompey!

Ber. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge!

Dum. Hector trembles.

Ber. Pompey is mov’d. More Ates, more Ates! stir them [on], stir them on!

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Ber. Ay, if ’a have no more man’s blood in his belly than will sup a flea.