Walk in the orchard, and our whole difcourfe
Is all of her; fay, that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honey-fuckles, ripen'd by the fun,
Forbid the fun to enter;-like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride.
Against that power that bred it:-there will the hide
To liften our purpofe: This is thy office, [her,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, prefently.

[Exit, Hero. Now, Urfula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk must only be of Benedick: When I do name him, let it be thy part To praife him more than ever man did merit; My talk to thee must be, how Benedick Is fick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,

That only wounds by hear-fay. Now begin.

Enter BEATRICE, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Clofe by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urf. The pleafant'ft angling is to fee the fish
Cut with her golden oars the filver ftreant,
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 lofe nothing Of the falfe fweet bait that we lay for it.

[They advance to the bower,

No, truly, Urfula, fhe is too difdainful;

I know,

I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

Urf. But are you

fure

That Benedick loves Beatrice fo entirely?

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

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urf. Why did you fo? Doth not the gentleman Deferve as full, as fortunate a bed,

As ever Beatrice fhall couch upon?

Hero. O god of love! I know, he doth deferve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder ftuff than that of Beatrice;
Difdain and fcorn ride fparkling in her eyes,
Mifprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself fo highly, that to her

All matter elfe feems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is fo felf-endeared.

Urf. Sure, I think fo;

And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, left she make fport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth: I never yet faw man,
How wife, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But he would fpell him backward: if fair-fac'd,
She'd fwear, the gentleman fhould be her fifter;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an aglet very vilely cut:

If fpeaking, why, a yane blown with all winds;

If filent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns fhe every man the wrong fide out;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which fimplenefs and merit purchaseth.

Urf. Sure, fure, fuch carping is not commendable. Hero. No; not to be fo odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:

But who dare tell her fo? If I fhould speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, fhe would laugh me
Out of myfelf, prefs me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Confume away in fighs, wafte inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks:
Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Urf. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will fay.
Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion;
And, truly, I'll devife fome honeft flanders
To ftain my cousin with; one doth not know,
How much an ill word may empoifon liking.

Urf. O, do not do your coufin fuch a wrong.
She cannot be fo much without true judgment,
(Having fo fwift and excellent a wit,
As he is priz'd to have) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as fignior Benedick.
Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urf. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy; fignior Benedick,

For fhape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urf. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. When are you marry'd, madam?

Hero.

Hero. Why, every day;-to-morrow: Come, go in, I'll fhew thee fome attires: and have thy counfel, Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

Urf. She's lim'd, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.

Hero. If it proves fo, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, fome with traps.

BEATRICE advancing.

[Exeunt.

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and fcorn fo much? Contempt, farewel! and maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of fuch. And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee; Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand; If thou doft love, my kindness fhall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band: For others fay, thou dost deserve; and I Believe it better than reportingly.

SCENE II. LEONATO's house,

[Exit.

Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LE

ONATO.

Pedro. I do but ftay 'till your marriage be confummate, and then go I toward Arragon.

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

Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a foil in the new glofs, of your marriage, as to fhew 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 fole of his foot, he is all

mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowftring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him: he hath a heart as found as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue fpeaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.

Leon. So fay I; methinks, you are fadder.
Claud. I hope, he be in love.

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

Bene. I have the tooth-ach.

Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it.

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

wards.

Pedro. What? figh for the tooth-ach?
Leon. Where is but a humour, or a
worm?
Bene. Well, every one can mafter a grief, but he

that has it.

Claud. Yet fay I, he is in love.

Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to ftrange difguifes; as to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman to-mor、 row; or in the fhape of two countries at once; as a German from the waist downward, all flops; 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 to appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with fome woman, there is no believing old figns: he brushes his hat o' morn ings: What fhould that bode?

Pedro. Hath any man feen him at the barber's?

Claud