SCENE II.-LEONATO's Garden. Marg. Will you, then, write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty? Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it. Marg. To have no man come over me? why shall I always keep below stairs? Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth; it catches. Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not. Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our And knows me, and knows me, coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? I mean, in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over, as my poor self, in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find out no rhyme to "lady" but "baby," an innocent rhyme; for "scorn," "horn," a hard rhyme; for" school," " fool," a babbling rhyme-very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. Enter BEATRICE. Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee? Bene. Suffer love! a good epithet. I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself. Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect, in this age, his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps. Beat. And how long is that, think you? Bene. Question :-why an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now tell me, how doth your cousin? Beat. Very ill. Bene. And how do you? Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home: it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently? Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Inside of a Church. Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with music and tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? EPITAPH. Done to death by slanderous tongues Gives her fame which never dies. SONG. Beat. "Then" is spoken; fare you well now :-and Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But, I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a Pardon, goddess of the night, Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. Claud. Good morrow, masters: each his way can tell. [Exeunt Torch-bearers. D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weed; And then to Leonato's we will go. Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speed, Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A Room in LEONATO'S House. Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICk, Beatrice, URSULA, Friar, and HERO. Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow, Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked. Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings. Which is the lady I must seize upon? Leon. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine.-Sweet, let me see your face. Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar, and swear to marry her. Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar: I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: [Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero? Hero. Nothing certainer. Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her One Hero died belied; but I do live, Upon the error that you heard debated: Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd. The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour To visit me.-You know your office, brother; You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, signior? [Exeunt Ladies. Bene. To bind me, or undo me; one of them.- Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true. In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Here come the prince, and Claudio. And my help. Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO, with Attendants. Claud. I'll hold my mind were she an Ethiop. the matter, That you have such a February face, Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull.Tush! fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, As once Europa did at lusty Jove, When he would play the noble beast in love. Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And, surely as I live, I am a maid. D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; When after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name. [Unmasking.] What is your will? Bene. Do not you love me? Beat. Why, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then, your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived, for they swore you did. Beat. Do not you love me? Bene. Troth, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceived; for they swore, you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. It is no matter. Then, you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentle man. Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice. Hero. And here's another, Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts.-Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. Beat. I would not deny you;-but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption. Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: it a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but, in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends.-Let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels. Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. Bene. First, of my word; therefore, play, music!Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers. [Dance of all the Actors. SCENE I.-Navarre. ACT I. A Park, with a Palace in it. Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE. King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring time, Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors!-for so you are, Biron. I can but say their protestation over; Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. King. Why, that to know which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight. Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: As painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth; while truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : By fixing it upon a fairer eye; That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks: Save base authority from others' books. King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a Dum. How follows that? Dum. In reason nothing. Fit in his place and time. Something, then, in rhyme. Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in any abortive birth? Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; Climb o'er the house-top to unlock the gate. King. Well, set you out: go home, Biron: adieu! with you: And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, And bide the penance of each three years' day. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from Biron. [Reads.] Item, "That no woman shall come within a mile of my court."-Hath this been proclaim'd? Long. Four days ago. Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] "On pain of losing her tongue."-Who devis'd this penalty? Long. Marry, that did I. Biron. Sweet lord, and why? Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. Biron. A dangerous law against garrulity! [Reads.] Item, "If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise." This article, my liege, yourself must break; For, well you know, here comes in embassy To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: Therefore, this article is made in vain, Or vainly comes th' admired princess rather. Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn Not by might master'd, but by special grace. I am forsworn on mere necessity. So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes. Suggestions are to others, as to me; King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is With a refined traveller of Spain; A man in all the world-new fashions flaunted, For interim to our studies, shall relate In high-born words the worth of many a knight Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Enter DULL, with a letter, and COSTARD. Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. you. Dull. Signior Arm-Arm-commends There's villainy abroad: this letter will tell you more. Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. Long. A high hope for a low hearing: God grant us patience! Biron. To hear, or forbear hearing? Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to forbear both. Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to chime in in the merriness. Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. Biron. In what manner? Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all those three I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into |