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Dogb. Go, good partner, go; get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that shall drive some of them to a non com: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

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Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it.

Claud. Know you any, Hero?
Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, count?

Leon I dare make his answer; none.

Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do!

Bene. How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he!

Claud. Stand thee by, friar.-Father, by your leave: Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth

May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankful

ness.

There, Leonato; take her back again :

Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour.-
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here:
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,

To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.

Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,-

Claud. I know what you would say: if I have known

her,

You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin:

No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large; But, as a brother to his sister, showed

Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
Claud. Out on thy seeming! I will write against it,

As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you?
D. Pedro.
What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are

true.

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero.

Claud. Leonato, stand I here?

True? O God!

Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?

Leon. All this is so; but what of this, my lord? Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter,

And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero. O God, defend me! how am I beset!—
What kind of catechizing call you this?
Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.
Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?
Claud.

Marry, that can Hero:
Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.-Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

John. Fie, fie! they are not to be nam'd, my lord, Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence to utter them. Thou pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart!
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
[HERO Swoons.

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Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leon. Dost thou look up? Friar.

Leon. Wherefore?

thing

Yea; wherefore should she not?
Why, doth not every earthly

Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?—
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes;
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the hazard of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frown?

O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, "No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?"
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she-O! she is fallen
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little, which may season give
To her soul-tainted flesh!

Bene.
Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd? O, that is stronger
made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie,
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence! from her ; let her die.
Friar. Hear me a little;

For I have only been silent so long,

And given way unto this cross of fortune,
By noting of the lady: I have mark'd

A thousand blushing apparitions

To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames,

In angel whiteness, beat away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth.—Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading, nor my observation,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverend calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here

Under some blighting error.
Leon.

Friar, it cannot be.
Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury: she not denies it.
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know, that do accuse me: I know none. If I know more of any man alive,

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy!-O, my father!
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes.

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in fraud and villainies.

Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her : if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a cause,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.

Friar.
Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter, here, the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse; that is some good :
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd
Of every hearer; for it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lost and lack'd,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us,
Whiles it was ours.-So will it fare with Claudio :
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of life,

Into the eye and prospect of his soul,

Than when she liv'd indeed :-then shall he mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver)
And wish he had not so accused her;

No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.

But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy :
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
As best befits her wounded reputation,
In some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though you know, my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon.

Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me. Friar. "Tis well consented: presently away, For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day,

Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience, and endure. [Exeunt Friar, HERO, and LEONATO. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that.

Beat. You have no reason; I do it freely. Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? Beat. A very even way, but no such 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 so well as you. Is not that strange?

It were

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not: I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.-I am sorry for my cousin. Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word?

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Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, count confect; a sweet gallant, surely! O, that I were a man for his sake! or that Í had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesy, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears 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. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero?

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. Bene. Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin : I must say she is dead; and so, farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Prison.

Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and
the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO.
Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared?
Verg. O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton.
Sexton. Which be the malefactors?
Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg. 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 master constable. Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.-What

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I is your name, friend? protest, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me!
Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was

about to protest, I loved 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. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

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 slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman?O, that I were a man!-What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,─O God,

Bora. Borachio.

Dogb. Pray write down Borachio.-—Yours, sirrah ? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. Dogb. Write down master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God?

Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope.

Dogb. Write down-that they hope they serve God : -and write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!- Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.

Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.-Come you hither, sirrah : a word in your ear, sir: I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogb. Well, stand aside.-'Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none ? Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way examine: you must call forth the watch that are their

accusers.

to

Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way.-Let the watch come forth.-Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men.

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain.

Dogb. Write down-prince John a villain.—Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. Bora. Master constable,

Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee.

Sexton. What heard you him say else?

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully.

Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was committed.
Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is.
Sexton. What else, fellow?

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her.

Dogb. O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else?

2 Watch. This is all.

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly

died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and
brought to Leonato's: I will go before, and show him
their examination.
[Exit.

Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned.
Verg. Let them be bound.

Bora. Hands off, coxcomb!

Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him write down the prince's officer, coxcomb.-Come, bind them.-Thou naughty varlet!

Con. Away! you are an ass; you are an ass.

Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years?-O, that he were here to write me down an ass!-but, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.-No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had leases; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him. Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down an ass! [Exeunt.

t

SCENE I.-Before LEONATO's House. Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief Against yourself.

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel; Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine:

Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,

Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,

And bid him speak to me of patience;

ACT V.

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Call sorrow joy; cry hem, when he should groan;
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him you to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man; for, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words.
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
Leon. I pray thee, peace! I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ache patiently,

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Claud.

Marry, beshrew my hand,
If it should give your age such cause of fear.
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me:
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by,
And with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.

I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child:

Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,

And she lies buried with her ancestors,
O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of her's, fram'd by thy villainy.
Claud. My villainy?
Leon.

Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon.

My lord, my lord,

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare,
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.
Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my
child:

If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : But that's no matter; let him kill one first :Win me and wear me,-let him answer me.Come, follow me, boy! come, sir boy, come, follow

me.

Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother

Ant. Content yourself. God knows, I lov'd my niece; And she is dead; slander'd to death by villains, That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops !— Leon.

Bene. It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it? D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw to pleasure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry?

Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill

care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me.-I pray you, choose another subject.

Claud. Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross.

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. I think he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claud. God bless me from a challenge!

Bene. You are a villain.—I jest not:-I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare.-Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?

Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a Brother Antony-calf's-head and capers, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught.—Shall I not find a woodcock too?

Ant. Hold you content. What, man! I know them; yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
Go antickly, and show an outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all!

Leon. But, brother Antony-
Ant.

Come, 'tis no matter: Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.

My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord !-

D. Pedro.

Leon.

I will not hear you.

No?

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Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well: it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: True," said she, "a fine little one:" "No," said I, "a great wit:" "Right," says she, "a great gross one:" "Nay,' said I, "a good wit:" "Just," said she, "it hurts nobody:" "Nay," said I, "the gentleman is wise:" “Certain,” said she, "a wise gentleman:" "Nay," said I," he hath the tongues:" "That I believe," said she, "for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning: there's a double tongue; there's two tongues." Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said she cared not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man's daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden.

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head?

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, "Here dwells Benedick the married man!"

I

Bene. Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina: you have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my lord Lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. [Exit BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice.

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