Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy!

(man. Marg. Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a Hero. Fy upon thee! art not ashamed? Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me say, saving your reverence, a husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm inthe heavier for a husband? None, I think, an if it be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes.

Enter BEATRICE.

[tune?

Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Marg. Clap us into-Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels!-then, if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns. [with my heels. Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: -hey ho!

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no more sailing by the star.

heart's desire!

Beat. What means the fool, trow?
Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their
[an excellent perfume.
Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are
Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold.

Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how long have you profess'd apprehension?

Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick.

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus.

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted, I know not; but methinks, you look with your eyes as other women do. Beat. What pace is this, that thy tongue keeps? Marg. Not a false gallop.

Re-enter URSula.

Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to church. Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Another Room in Leonato's house. Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES. Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns you nearly.

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. [time with me. Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.

Leon. What is it, my good friends? Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest, as the skin between his brows. Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. [bour Verges. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighLeon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ha!

Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 'tis: for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I.

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.

Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out; God help us! it is a world to see!-Well said, i'faith, neighbour Verges:-well, God's a good man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind-An honest soul, i'faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread: but, God is to be worshipped: All men are not alike; alas, good neighbour! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. Leon. I must leave you.

[you.

Dogb. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship.

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me; I am now in great haste, as it may appear Dogb. It shall be suffigance. [unto you.

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready. [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these men.

Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that (touching his forehead) shall drive some of them to a non com: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The Inside of a Church.. Enter Don PEDRO, Don JOHN, LEONATO, Friar, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, and BEATRICE, &c. Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their [lady? particular duties afterwards. Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this Claud. No. [marry her. Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to Hero. I do. [this count? Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to atter it.

Claud. Know you any, Hero?
Hero. None, my lord.
Friar. Know you any, count?

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do! Bene. How now! Interjections? Why, then some be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he! [leave; Claud. Stand thee by, friar:-Father, by your Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth

May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.
Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank-
There, Leonato, take her back again; [fulness.--
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here:
O, what authority and shew of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,

To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed:
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.
Not to be married,
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity-

Claud. I know what you would say; If I have known her,

You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin:

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large;
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd'

Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? Claud. Out on thy seeming! I will write against it: You seem to me as Dian in her orb; As chaste as is the bud, ere it be blown; But you are more intemperate in your blood Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals, That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? D. Pedro. What should I speak? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream? D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things

are true.

Claud. Leonato, stand I bere?
Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?
Leon. All this is so; But what of this, my lord!
Claud. Let me but move one question to your
daughter;

Aud, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, hid her answer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. O God defend me! how am I beset!-What kind of catechising call you this?

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach? Claud.

Marry, that can Hero; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.Leonato,

I am sorry you must hear: Upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, bear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

D. John.

Fy, fy! they are Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; There is not chastity enough in language, Without offence, to utter them: Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair; farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? (Hero swoons.)

you down?

Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink [thus to light, D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat.

Dead, I think ;-help, uncle ;— Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle!-Signior Benedick!

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon.

Dost thou look up?
Friar. Yea; Wherefore should she not?
Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny [thing
The story that is printed in her blood?—
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griey'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she-O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!

Bene.
Sir, sir, be patient :
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger

made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her
Friar. Hear me a little;

For I have only been silent so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,

[die.

By noting of the lady; I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors, that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth :-Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book: trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error,

Leon.

Friar, it cannot be :
Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation

A sin of perjury; she not denies it :
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I know
If I know more of any man alive,
[none:
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy!-O my father,
Prove you, that any man with me convers'd
At hours anmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes.

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.

Leon. I know not: If they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her ho-
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. [nour,
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar.

Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,

And publish it, that she is dead indeed:

Maintain a mourning ostentation;

And on your family's old monument

Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites, That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this?

[this do?

What will

Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd,
Of every bearer: For it so falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue, that possession would not shew us
Whiles it was ours: So will it fair with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;
And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,

Than when she liv'd indeed :-then shall he mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver),
And wish he had not so accused her;

Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day,

Perhaps, is but prolong'd; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene. I will not desire that.

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely.
Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is
wrong'd.

Beat, Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?
Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.
Bene. May a man do it?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as yon; Is not that strange?

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not: It were as possible for me to say, loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing:-I am sorry for my cousin.

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says, I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it: I protest, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me!

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I loved you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest.

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny it: Farewell.

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, though I am here;-There is no love in you:-Nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice,

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman?-0, that I were a man!-What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,-O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ;Beat. Talk with a man out at a window?---a proBene. Nay, but, Beatrice;- [per saying. Beat. Sweet Hero!-she is wronged, she is slanBene, Beat[dered, she is undone. Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-confect; a sweet gallant, surely! O, that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it:-I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. [love thee. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: By this hand, I Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. [hath wronged Hero? Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you: By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account: As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin: I must say, she is dead; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO. Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton! Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibition to examine.

SCENE II-A Prison.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before master constable. Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.— What is your name, friend?

Bora. Borachio.

Dogb. Pray write down-Borachio.- Yours, sirrah? [Conrade.

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Dogb. Write down-master gentleman Conrade. -Masters, do you serve God?

Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope.

Dogb. Write down-that they hope they serve God-and write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!-Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.-Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, sir; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogb. Well, stand aside.-Fore God, they are both in a tale: Have you writ down-that they are none?

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine; you must call forth the watch, that are their accusers.

Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way :-Let the watch come forth-Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men.

I Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain.

Dogb. Write down-prince John a villain:Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brotherBora. Master constable,[villain. Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy look, I promise thee.

Sexton. What heard you him say else?

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of John Don, for accusing lady Hero wrongfully.

Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed.

Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow?

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.

Dogb. O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else?

2 Watch. This is all.

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly died.-Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go before, and show him their examination. [Exit. Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. Let them be in band.

Con. Off, coxcomb!

Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him write down-the prince's officer, coxcomb.Come, bind them :- -Thou naughty varlet!

Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years?-O that he were here to write me down-an ass! but, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass :-No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him:-Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down-an ass! [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Before Leonato's House. Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself.

Leon.

I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one, whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And bid him speak of patience; Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, And let it answer every strain for strain; As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard: Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should

groan;

Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing
differ.
[blood;
Leon. I pray thee, peace; I will be flesh and

For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.
Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do
My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied; [so:
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. D. Pedro. Good den, good den. Claud.

Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you, my lords,D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord!-well, fare you

well, my lord:

Are you so hasty now?-well, all is one.

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low.

[me:

If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon. Tash, tush, man, never fleer and jest at
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.

[heart,

I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her
And she lies buried with her ancestors:
O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of her's, fram'd by thy villainy.
Claud. My villainy!

Leon.
Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.
Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd
my child;

If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Aut. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed; But that's no matter; let him kill one first;- · Win me and wear me,-let him answer me,Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me: Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother,

[niece; Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains, That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!Leon.

Brother Antony,

Ant. Hold you content; What, man! I know

them, yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
Go anticly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.

[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. Enter BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.

Claud. Now, signior! what news?

Bene. Good day, my lord.

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost come to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them.

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour: I came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene. It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale-Art thou sick, or angry?

Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me:-I pray you, choose another subject.

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this last was broke cross.

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more; I think, he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claud. God bless me from a challenge!

Bene. You are a villain;-I jest not:-I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:-Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you. [good cheer. Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?

Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf's head and a capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught.-Shall I not find a woodcock too?

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a great wit; Right, says she, a great gross one: Nay, said I, a good wit; Just, said she, it hurts no body: Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the tongues; That, I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the prosperest man in Italy.