you told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick?

Claud. O, ay: -Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aside to Pedro] I did never think that lady would have loved any man.

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? [Aside.

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it; but that she loves him with an enraged affection, it is past the infinite of thought.

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit.
Claud. 'Faith, like enough.

Leon. O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it.

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.

[Aside.

Leon. What effects, my lord! She will sit you,You heard my daughter tell you how.

Claud. She did, indeed.

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; espeially against Benedick.

Bene. [Aside] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence.

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to

Benedick?

[Aside.

Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter'd him with scorn, write to him that I love him?

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him for she'll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all. Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, remember a pretty jest est your you daughter told us of. Leon. O! When she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

Claud. That.

Leon. O! she tore the letter into a thousand half

pence; railed at herself, that she should be so immo

dest to write to one that she knew would flout her! I measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yed, though I love him, I should.

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses:O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!

Leon. She doth, indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate

outrage to herself; It is very true.

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it.

Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him: she's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.

Claud. And she is exceeding wise.

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in tender body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daff'd all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.

Leon. Were it good, think you? Claud. Hero, thinks surely, she will die for she says, she will die if he love her not; and she will die ere she makes her love known and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustomed crossness.

D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man.

ness.

D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiClaud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit.

Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her love?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her

heart out first.

D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

Leon. My lord, will you walk; dinner is ready. Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. [Aside.

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. [Aside.

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Benedick advances from above.

Bene. This can be no trick the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection didappertinety that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness and virtuous;-'tis so, I cannot re

I to

prove it; and wise, but for loving me :- By my troth,

it is no addition to her wit; -nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her.-I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage:-But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? No: the world must be peo

pled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.-Here comes Beatrice; By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come.

Bene. You take pleasure in the message?

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well.

[Exit,

Bene. Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid you come to dinner there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks:-If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew: I will go get her picture. [Exit.

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio:
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole dsscouse
Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it:-there will she hide
To listen our purpose: this is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

[her,

Enter Beatrice, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture:
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it-

[They advance to the Bower.

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

Urs.

But are you sure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it: But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection,

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman

Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

Hero. O god of love! I know, he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice:
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.

Urs.

Sure, I think so; And therefore, certainly it were not good She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

Hero. W Thy, you speak truth: I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward; if fair-faced,
She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds:
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero. No: not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks;
Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion: And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know, How much an ill word may empoison liking. Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.

She cannot be so much without true judgment
(Having so swift and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have), as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.
Hero. He is the only man in Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. When are you married, madam?

Hero. Why, every day;-to-morrow: come, go in; I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, Which is the best to turnish me to-morrow. [madam. Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caughther, Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero and Ursula.

Beatrice advances.

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu I
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee

To bind our loves up in a holy band:
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly.

[Exit.

SCENE II, A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me.

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the little hangman dares not shoot at him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I; methinks you are sadder. Claud. I hope, he be in love.

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love: if he be sad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the tooth-ach!

D. Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it !

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after

wards.

D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach?
Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm?

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he

that has it.

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him,. unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman to-morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slops; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with some womar, there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o'mornings; what should that bode?

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls.

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: Can you smell him out by that?

Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love.

D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him.

Con. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean the fashion.

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion:

thou

or a

Con. Tush! I may as well say, the fool's the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is?

Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name.

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody?

Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house.

Bora. See'st thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty? sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting; sometime, like god Bel's priests in the old church church window; window; sometime, like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his club?

Con. All this I see; and see, that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man: but art thou not thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ?

Bora. Not so neither: but know, that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero; she leans me out at her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night, I tell this tale vilely:-I should first tell thee, how the afar off in

prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, possessed by my master Don John, the orchard this amiable encounter. my mastercoon dohn, saw Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero? Bora. Two of them did,

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner: and your gown's a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg. By my troth it's but a nigh

night-gown in respect

of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

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

Marg. "Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie 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: 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.

any harm in the heavier for a

Enter Beatrice.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick tune?
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 lack no barns. your husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall

Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels,

Beat. "Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill:-hey,

ho!

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume.

Deat. I am stuff'd cousin, I cannot smell.

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

2

Watch. Call up

right master the

constable: we

have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; Iknow

him, he wears a lock.

Con. Masters, masters.

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. dictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Bene

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 or that 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 how you may be converted, I know

women do.

not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other 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.

[Exit.

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

Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant,

your cousin will say so.

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; I'll wear none but this.