Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her, Nor fortune made fuch havock of my means, Friar. Paufe a while; And let my counsel sway you in this case. And publish it that she is dead indeed : That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do? Change slander to remorse; that is some good: But not for that dream I on this ftrange course, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Th' idea Th’idea of her love shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit, More moving, delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and profpect of his foul, Than when she liv'd indeed. Then fhall he mourn, And wish he had not fo accused her; No, though he thought his accufation true. Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefs Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Leon. Being that I flow In grief, alas! the smallest twine may lead me. For to strange fores, ftrangely they ftrain the cure. Come, lady, die to live; this wedding-day, Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience, and endure. " \ [Exeunt. SCENE III. Manent Benedick and Beatrice. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Bene. I will not defire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. Bene. Surely, I do believe, your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to show fuch friendship? Beat. A very even way, but no fuch 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 fo well as you; is not that strange? Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not; it were as poffible for me to say, I loved nothing fo well as you; but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin. Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'st me. Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it. Bene. I will fwear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that fays, I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I protest, I love thee. Beat. Why then, god forgive me! Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice? Beat. You have ftay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to proteft, I lov'd 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. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. Bene. You kill me to deny; farewel. 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 flander'd, fcorn'd, dishonour'd my kinfwoman? that I were o, a man! what, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then with publick accufation, uncover'd flander, 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 proper faying! Bene. Nay but, Beatrice. Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, she is flander'd, she is undone. Bene. But Beat. Princes, and counts! furely, a princely teftimony, a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, furely! o that I were a man for his fake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake l but manhood is melted into courtefies, valour into compliment; and men are only turn'd into tongues, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and fwears it: I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand, I love thee. Beat. Ufe it for my love fome other way than fwearing by it. Bene. Think you in your foul the count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? Beat. Beat. Yea, as fure as I have a thought, or a soul. Bene. Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you: by this hand, Claudio fhall render me dear account: as you hear of me, fo think of me; go, comfort your coufin; I muft fay, fhe is dead, and fo, farewel. [Exeunt. Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the Town-Clerk and Sexton in gowns. To. Cl.TS our whole diffembly appear'd? Dogb. O, a ftool and cushion for the fexton! Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Verg. Marry, that am I and my partner. Dogb. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before mafter conftable. To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend? Bora. Borachio. To. Cl. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, firrah? Conr. I am a gentleman, fir, and my name is Conrade. To. Cl. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you ferve god? Both. Yea, fir, we hope. To. Cl. Write down, that they hope they ferve god: and write, god, first; for god defend, but god fhould go before fuch villains! -Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought fo fhortly; how anfwer you for yourselves? Conr. Marry, fir, we say, we are none. To. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow, I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, firrah, a word in your ear, |