niece: Shall we go seek 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 gentlewomen 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 the Arbour.

-

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.-I did never think to marry:-I must not seem proud:-Happy are they 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 reprove 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 rail'd 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 peopled. 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 then 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 in 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.

ACT III. SCENE I.

LEONATO'S GARDEN.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the Prince and Claudio: Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 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 her,

To listen our purpose: This is thy office,

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Murg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre

sently.

[Exit.

Hero. Now, Ursula, 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
praise him more than ever man did merit:
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick

Is sick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
by hearsay. Now begin;

That only wounds

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 intreat 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: