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Scene I

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady] is very well worthy.

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.

Claud. That I love her, I feel.

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the will die opinion that fire cannot melt out of me; in it at the stake.

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his will.

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach; teach it
but how,

And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir;
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

Claud.

O, my lord,
When you went onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love :
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying, Ilik'd her ere I went to wars.

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most And tire the hearer with a book of words: humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat' If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle2 in an And I will break with her, and with her father, invisible baldric,3 all women shall pardon me. Be-And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end, cause I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any,That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is (for the which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor.

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with love: prove, that ever I lose more blood with love, than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a balladmaker's pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house, for the sign of blind Cupid.

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him be clap-|| ped on the shoulder, and called Adam.4

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try:
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.

Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted; and in such great letters as they write, Here is good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign,-Here you may see Benedick the married

man.

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st

be horn-mad.

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's; commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great preparation.

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I commit youClaud. To the tuition of God: From my (if I had it)

house

D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving

friend, Benedick.

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love,
That know love's grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader
than the flood?

I

The fairest grant is the necessity :
Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, thou lov'st;
And I will fit thee with the remedy.

I

know, we shall have revelling to-night;
will assume thy part in some disguise,
And tell fair Hero' I am Claudio;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale :
Then, after, to her father will break;
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine :
In practice let us put it presently.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A room in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato and Antonio.

Leon. How now, brother? where is my cousin, Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I your son? Hath he provided this music? can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed

not of.

Leon. Are they good?

Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a good cover, they show well outward. The prince and count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached? alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine: The prince discovered to Claudio, that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? Ant. good sharp fellow: I will send for him, and question him yourself.

it

Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of appears itself:-but I will acquaint my daughter your discourse is sometime guardeds with frag-withal, that she may be the better prepared for an ments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and tell her of . [Several persons cross the stage.] your conscience; and so I leave you. [Exit Bene. Cousins, you know what you have to do.-O, I Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me cry you mercy, friend; you go with me, and I good.

(1) The tune sounded to call off the dogs.
(2) Hunting-horn. (3) Girdle.

(4) The name of a famous archer. (5) Trimmed. (6) Once for all. (7) Thickly interwoven.

Q

will use your skill:-Good cousins, have a care
this busy time.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III-Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Don John and Conrade.

Con. What the goujere, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?

D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. Con. You should hear reason.

D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing bringeth it?

Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance.

D. John. I wonder that thou being (as thou say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have a stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and claw2 no man in his humour.

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this, till you may do it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true root, but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest.

D. John. I had rather be a canker3 in a hedge, than a rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage: if I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me. Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes here? What news, Borachio? Enter Borachio.

hath all the glory of my overthrow; if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way: You are both sure, and will assist me?

Con. To the death, my lord.

D. John. Let us to the great supper; their cheer is the greater, that I am subdued: 'Would the cook were of my mind!-Shall we go prove what's to be done?

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE 1-A hall in Leonato's house. Enter
Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others.
Leon. Was not count John here at supper?
Ant. I saw him not.

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid-way between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling.

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face,—

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,-if he could get her good will.

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Ant. In faith, she too curst.

Bent. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's sending that way: for it is said, God sends a curst cow short horns; but to a cow too curst he sends none.

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening: Lord! I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie in the woollen.

Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper; the prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo-no beard. nato; and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.

D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for a fool, that betroths himself to unquietness?

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand.
D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio?
Bora. Even he.

D. John. A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he?

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir

of Leonato.

D. John. A very forward March chick! came you to this?

How

Beat. What should I do with him? dress him woman? in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentleyouth; and he that hath no beard, is less than a He that hath a beard, is more than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him. Therefore, I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. Leon. Well then, go you into hell?

Beat. No; but to the gate; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on you to heaven; here's no place for you maids: so his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for was smoking a musty room, comes me the princesit, and there live we as merry as the day is long. and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give her to count Claudio.

D. John. Come, come, let us thither; this may prove food to my displeasure that young start-up

1) The venereal disease. (2) Flatter.

be ruled by your father.
Ant. Well, niece, [To Hero.] I trust, you will

courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you:-but
Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make
low, or else make another courtesy, and say, Fa-
yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fel-
ther, as it please me.

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Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward mart? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.

Leon. Daughter, remember, what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

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Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful,-and that I had my good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales;-Well, this was signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he?

Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, believe me.

Beat. Did he never make you laugh?
Bene. I pray you, what is he?

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him, there is measure in every Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, dull fool; only his gift is in devising impossible Hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a slanders: none but libertines delight in him; and Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first the commendation is not in his wit, but in his vilsuit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as||lany; for he both pleaseth men, and angers them, fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle: can see a church by day-light.

Leon. The revellers are entering; brother, make good room.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked.

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend ?2

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially, when I walk away.

D. Pedro. With me in your company?
Hero. I may say so, when I please.

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your favour: for God defend,3 the iute should be like the case!

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.

Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd.
D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.
[Takes her aside.
Bene. Well, I would you did like me.
Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for

I have many ill qualities.

Bene. Which is one?

Marg. I say my prayers aloud.

Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen.

Marg. God match me with a good dancer!
Balth. Amen.

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight,
when the dance is done!-Answer, clerk.
Balth. No more words; the clerk is answered.
Urs. I know you well enough; you are signior
Antonio.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man: Here's his dry hand up and down; you are he, you are he.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself?

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and then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am sure, he is in the fleet; I would he had boarded me. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say.

Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me; which peradventure, not marked, or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge's wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We must follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

them at the next turning. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave

[Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio. D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it: the ladies follow her, and but one visor

remains.

Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.6

D. John. Are not you signior Benedick?
Claud. You know me well; I am he.

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it.

Claud. How know you he loves her? D. John. I heard him swear his affection. Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet.
[Exeunt Don John and Borachio.
Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.-
'Tis certain so ;-the prince woos for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love:
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,

And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.?
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell therefore, Hero!
Re-enter Benedick.

Bene. Count Claudio ?
Claud. Yea, the same.
Bene. Come, will you go with me?
Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a usurer's (7) Passion.

(6) Carriage, demeanour.

chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince would have served you thus?

Claud. I pray you, leave me.

Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man ; 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit.
Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep
into sedges.But, that my lady Beatrice should
know me, and not know me! The prince's fool!
Ha! it may be, I
go under that title, because I am
merry.-Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong:
I am not so reputed: it is the base, the bitter dis-
position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her
person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be re-
venged as I may.

Re-enter Don Pedro, Hero, and Leonato.
D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count?
Did you see him?

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.

D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.

in hell, as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her.

Re-enter Claudio and Beatrice.

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy: You have no employment for me? D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of signior Benedick.

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and I gave him use3 for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before, he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say, I have lost it.

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are you sad?

Claud. Not sad, my lord.
D. Pedro. How then? Sick?
Claud. Neither, my lord.

Beat. The count is neither sad nor sick, nor

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres-merry, nor well: but civil, count; civil as an sion? The transgression is in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself; and the rod he might have bestow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his bird's nest.

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.

D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman, that danced with her, told her, she is much wronged by you.

orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy!

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it!

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue.4

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how much.Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answered her; my very visor began to Beat. Speak, cousin; or if you cannot, stop his assume life, and scold with her: She told me, not mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you l have a merry heart. jester; that I was duller than a great thaw; hud- Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it dling jest upon jest, with such impossiblel convey-keeps on the windy side of care:-My cousin tells ance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, him in his ear, that he is in her heart. with a whole army shooting at me: she speaks Claud. And so she doth, cousin. poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Até2 in good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet

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Beat. Good lord, for alliance!-Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned; I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh ho! for a husband.

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting: Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady?

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days:-your grace is too costly to wear every day :-But, I beseech your grace, pardon

(4) Turn: a phrase among the players.

Scene II, III.

me:

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.-Cousins, God give you joy!

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.-By your grace's [Erit Beatrice. pardon. D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

D. John. Show me briefly how.
Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since,
waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the

D. John. I remember.

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-window.

D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother: spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold up) to a containinated stale, such a one as Hero.

D. John. What proof shall I make of that?

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : look you
D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour
for any other issue?

Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene-any thing. dick.

Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.

D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.

Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw that you know that Hero loves me; intend3 a kind Don Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, of your brother's honour who hath made this match; of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as-in love cozened with the semblance of a maid,--that you and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe shall bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her this without trial offer them instances; which chamber-window; hear me call Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret term me Borachio; and bring them to see this, the very night before the intended wedding: for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring signior Benedick, and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such as-preparation overthrown. sistance as I shall give you direction.

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings.

Claud. And I, my

lord.

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?
Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to
help my cousin to a good husband.

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest
husband that I know: thus far can I praise him;
he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to hu-
mour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with
Benedick-and I, with your two helps, will so
practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick
wit and his queasy2 stomach, he shall fall in love
with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no
longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we
are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will
[Exeunt.
tell you my drift.
SCENE II-Another room in Leonato's house.
Enter Don John and Borachio.
D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry
the daughter of Leonato.

Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment
will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displea-
sure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his af-
fection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou
cross this marriage?"

Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly
that no dishonesty shall appear in me.

(1) Lineage. (2) Fastidious.

(3) Pretend.

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. I will put it in practice: Be cunning in the work

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.

D. John. I will presently go learn their day of [Exeunt. marriage. dick and a Boy. SCENE III.-Leonato's Garden. Enter Bene

it

Bene. Boy,-
Boy. Signior.

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring hither to me in the orchard.

Boy. I am here already, sir.

Bene. I know that;-but I would have thee hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.]-I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, by falling in love: and such a man is Clauhim but the drum and fife, and now had he rather dio. I have known, when there was no music with hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was honest man, and a soldier; and now is he turn'd orwont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an quet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so thographer; his words are a very fantastical banconverted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn, but love may

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