Leon. Coufin, you apprehend paffing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can fee a church by day-light. d Leon. The revellers are entring; brother, make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Urfula, and others mask’d. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend? Hero. So you walk foftly, and look fweetly, and fay nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, especially, when I walk away. Pedro. With me in your company? Hero. I may fay so, when I please. Pedro. And when please you to fay fo? Hero.. When I like your favour; for God defend, the lute fhould be like the cafe! Pedro. My vifor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. Hero. Why, then your vifor fhould be thatch'd. Marg. Speak low, if you speak love. Balth. Well, I would you did like me. Marg. So would not I, for your own fake; for I have many ill qualities. Balth. Which is one? Marg. I fay my prayers aloud. Balth. 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 fight when the dance is done!-Answer, clerk. Balth. No more words; the clerk is anfwer'd. The revellers]-The masks. e defend,]-forbid. Urf. Urf. I know you well enough; you are fignior Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urf. I know you by the waggling of your head. Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Urf. You could never do him fo 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. Urf. Come, come; do you think, I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you fo? Bene. No, you shall pardon me. Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bene. Not now. Beat. That I was difdainful-and that I had my good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales ;-Well, this was fignior Benedick that faid fo. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am fure, 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. Why, he is the prince's jefter: a very dull fool; his only gift is in devifing "impoffible flanders: none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy; for he both pleafeth men, i f do him fo ill-well,]-fo perfectly take off his imperfections. 8 Hundred merry Tales ;]-Tranflation of a French novel ascribed to Louis XI. himpoffible]-improbable, fuch as confute themselves by their glaring abfurdity. i villainy]-roguery. pleafeth men,]-fome by his fatirical vein, and angers others, whom he makes the fubject of it. and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him I am fure, he is in the fleet; I would he had board : ed me. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you fay. Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparifon or two on me; which, peradventure, not mark'd, or not laugh'd at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing fav'd, for the fool will eat no fupper that night. We muft follow the leaders. [Mufick within. Bene. In every good thing. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning. Manent John, Borachio, and Claudio. 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 vifor remains. Bora. And that is Claudio: I know, him by his 'bearing. John. Are you not fignior Benedick? Claud. You know me well; I am he. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamour'd on Hero; I pray you, diffuade him from her, fhe is no equal for his birth: you may an honest man in it. Claud. How know you he loves her? John. I heard him fwear his affection. do the part of Bora. So did I too; and he fwore he would marry her to-night. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt John and Bora. Claud. 1 bearing.]-carriage. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, Save in the office and affairs of love: m Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whofe charms "faith melteth into blood. Which I miftrufted not: Farewell therefore, Hero! Re-enter Benedick. Bene, Count Claudio? Claud. Yea, the fame. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own bufinefs, count. What fathion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like an ufurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's fcarf? 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 fell bullocks. But did you think, the prince would have thus? ferv'd you Claud. I pray you leave me. mall hearts]-let all hearts-your own tongues. n faith melteth into blood.]-diffolves into frailty, and lofes all its virtue; as the waxen images of thofe, whom they mean to torture, when held by witches to the flames, run into a shapeless mass. 66 even as a form of wax Refolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire." KING JOHN, A& V, S. 4. Melun. Bene. ⚫an ufurer's chain ?]-formerly worn by wealthy citizens. Bene. Ho! now you ftrike like the blind man; 'twas the boy that ftole 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 fedges. But, that my lady Beatrice fhould 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 fo; I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not fo reputed: it is the base, though bitter difpofition of Beatrice, that puts the world into her perfon, and fo gives me out. Well, I'll be reveng❜d as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro. Pedro. Now, fignior, where's the count? Did him? r you fee Bene. Troth, my lord, I have play'd 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 the young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forfaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt. Pedro. To be whipt! What's his fault? Bene. The flat tranfgreffion of a school boy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's neft, thews it his companion, and he steals it. Pedro. Wilt thou make a truft a tranfgreffion? The tranfgreffion is in the ftealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amifs, the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himfelf; and the rod he might have beftow'd on you, who, as I take it, have ftoi'n his bird's nest. P but fo;]-but foftly. the bafe, though bitter]-the villainously witty. this. Pedro. |