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Leonato's house.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. OOD Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire

her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urf. Well.


. Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this,

Marg. By my troth, it's not so good, and, I warrant, your cousin will say fo.

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another : I'll wear nóne but this.

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 dutchess of Milan's gown that they praise fo.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth, it’s but a night-gown in respect of yours; cloth of gold, and cuts, and lac'd with silver, set with pearls down-sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborn with a blueish tinsel; but for a fine, queint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

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

Marg. 'Twill be heavier foon by the weight of a man.
Hero. Fie upon thee! art not asham’d?

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. If bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend no body: is there any harm in the heavier for a


husband ? none, I think, if it be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise, 'tis light, and not heavy; ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes.


Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow, coz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.
Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the fick tune ?
Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you fing it, and I'll dance it. Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels! then if your

husband have stables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with


heels. Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; ʼtis time you were ready: by my troth, I am exceeding ill: hey ho!

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ?
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, if you be not turn’d Turk, there's no more failing by the star.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?
Marg. Nothing 1: but god send every one their heart's desire !

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

Beat. I am stuff’d, cousin, I cannot smell.
Marg. A maid and stuff’d! there's a goodly catching of cold.

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.

Marg. Get you some of this distill'd Carduus Benedi&tus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Vol. I.



Beat. Benedi&tus! why Benedi&tus ? you have some moral in this Benedi&tus.

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, birlady, I am not such a fool to think what I lift; nor I lift not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out with thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, or 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: and how you may be converted I know not; but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other women do.

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ?
Marg. Not a false gallop.

Enter Ursula.
Urf. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, fignior Benedick,
don John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you
to church.
Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula.



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Leon. W


Enter Leonato, with Dogberry, and Verges.
Leon. THAT would you with me, honest neighbour ?

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence

that decerns you nearly.
Leon. Brief, I pray you, for you see ʼtis a busy time with me.
Dogb. Marry, this it is, fir.
Verg. Yes, in truth, it is, fir.
Leon. What is it, my good friends ?

Dogb. Goodman Verges, fir, speaks a little of the matter : an old man, fir, and his wits are not so blunt, as, god help, I would defire they were; but, in faith, as honest as the skin between his brows.



Verg. Yes, I thank god, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I.

Dogh. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges.
Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.

Leon. All thy tediousness on mel ah?

Dogb. Yea, and twice a thousand times more than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.

Verg. And so am I.
Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.

Verg. Marry, fir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship’s presence, hath ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Mefina.

Dogb. A good old man, fir; he will be talking; as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out; god help us! it is a world to see! well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges; well, he's a good man; an two men ride an horse, one must ride behind : an honest soul, i' faith, fir; by my troth, he is, as ever broke bread: but, god is to be worship’d; all men are not alike; alas, good neighbour !

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
Dogb. Gifts that god gives.
Leon. I must leave you.

Dogb. One word, fir; our watch have, indeed, comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examin'd before your worship.

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me; I am now in great haste, as may appear unto you.

Dogb. It shall be suffigance.
Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

Enter a Messenger. Mel. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband.

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Leon. I'll wait upon them: I am ready. [Exit. Leon

Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the jail; we are now to examine

those men.

Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant; here's that shall drive some of them to a non-come. Only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the jail.


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Enter D. Pedro, D. John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick,

Hero, and Beatrice.

TO ME, friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of

marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards.

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
Claud. No.
Leon. To be marry'd to her, friar; you come to marry her.
Friar. Lady, you come hither to be marry'd to this count?
Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoin'd, 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 dol what men may dol what men daily do!


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