will leave yon now to your gossip-tike humour t 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: yon have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady.; For my lord Lackbeard there, he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with htm. [Exit; D. Pedro. He is in earnest.

Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I '11 warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? Claud. Most sincerely.

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when he goes hi his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit i

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an ape a doctor to such a man.

D. Pedro. But, soft you, let ine be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad I Did he not say my brother was Bed?

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, -with
Conrade and Borachio.

Dogb. Come, you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance. Nay, an'you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to. [Borachio, one?

D. Pedro. How now I two of my brother's men bound?

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord.

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D. Pedro. First, I ask tnee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge?

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood: what's your offence?

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer: do you hear me, and let this count kill ine. I have deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night, overheard me con< fessing to this man, how Don John your brother in censed me to slander the lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; how you disgraced her, when you should marry her: my villainy they have upon record: which 1 had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through

/our blood? ■ 1

I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? Jiora. Yea ; and paid me richly for the practice of it. D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery:— And fled he is upon this villainy.

Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.

Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs: bythistime our sexton hath reformed sienior I^eonato of the matter: and masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato.and the sexton too.

Re-enter Leonato, Antonio, and the Sexton.
Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid hiin. Which of these is he?
Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me.
Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast
Mine innocent child? [kill'd
Bora. Yea, even I alone.

I^on. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men,
A third is fled, that had a hand in it.—
I thank you. princes, for my daughter's death 1
Record it with your high and worthy deeds;
Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience; Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin: yet sinned 1 not. But in mistaking.

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I:

And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live,
That were impossible; but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here.
How innocent she died ; and if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,
And sing it to her bones,—sing it to-night :—
To-morrow morning come you to my house;
And since yon could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: ray brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that's dead.
And she alone is heir to both of us:
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.

Claud. O noble sir 1

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me.
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon. To-morrow, then, 1 will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave.—This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack d in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora. No, by my soul she was not;

Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me;
But always hath been just and virtuous,
In anything tliat I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me a ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of one deformed: they say he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows money in God's name,—the which he hath used so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: pray you, examine him upon that point. Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy pains. Dogb. God save the foundation 1 Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to health I I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it!—Come, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch, Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-morD. Pedro. We will not fail. [row. Claud. To-night 111 mourn w!th Hero.

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. Leon. Bring you these fellows on. Well talk with Margaret,

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve ell at my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. _ [my beauty.

•Marg. Wilt you, then, write ine a sonnet in praise of Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me 1 why, shall f always keep below stairs? [mouth,—it catches. Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers.' [our own.

Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. (hath lei's.

Mars- Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think

Bene. And therefore will come. {Exit Margaret.

[Singing.] The god of love.

That sits aboz'e. And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve,— I mean, in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of I a blank verse,—why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried: 1 can find out no rhyme to "lady" but "baby,"—an innocent rhyme; for "scorn,"*"horn,"—a hard rhyme; for "school," "fool,"—a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.—•

Enter Beatrice. Sweet Beatrice, wouldstthou come when I called thee T

Beat. Yea, signior: and depart when you bid me.

Bene. O, stay but till then I

Beat. "Then" is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. [thee.

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind Is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Betie. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge\ and either I must shortly hear from him, or 1 will subscribe him a coward. And, 1 pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me T

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me T

Bene. "Suffer love,"—a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for

fours; for I will never love that which my friend lates.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

Beat. It appears not in this confession; there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived In the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you T

Bene. Question:—why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: therefore it is most expedient f r t e wise (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no ini, ediment to the contrary) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now tell me, how doth your cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter Ursula.

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder's old coil at home: it is proved, iny lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?

Bene. I win live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.— The Inside of a Church.

Enter Den Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with

music and tapers. Claud.. Is this the monument of Leonato?

Atten. It is, my lord.

Claud. [Beadsfrom a scroll.]

Done to death by slanderous tongues

U'as the Hero that here lies:
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs.

Gives Jter fame which never dies.
So the t(/e, that died with shutne.
Lives in death with glorious fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb,

[ Appending it.
Praising her when I am dumb.—
Now, music, sound; and sing your solemn hymn.
SONG.

Pardon, goddess of the night.
Those that slnv thy virgin knight;
For the which, with songs of woe.
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan.
Heavily, heavily:
Graves, yawn, and yield your dead.
Till death be uttered.
Heavily, heavily.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night 1

Yearly will I do this nte. D. Pedro. Good-morrow, masters; put your torches out:

The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day. Before the wheels of Pnuebus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.

Claud. Good-morrow, masters: each his several way.

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other And then to Leonato's we will go. [weeds:

Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds. Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—A Room in Leonato's House.

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula, Friar, and Hero.

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her Upon the error that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this. Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question.

Ant. Well. I am glad that all things sort so welL

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enfore'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all. Withdraw into a chamber by^yourselves. And when I send for you, come hither mask'd: The prince and Claudio proiuis'd by this hour To visit me.—You know your office, brother; You must be father to your brother's daughter. And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt ladies.

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

Friar. To do what, signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me; one of them.—
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most true.

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.

Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me. From Claudio, and the prince: but what's your will?

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the state of honourable marriage:
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help,

Leon. My heart is with your liking.

Friar. And my help.

Here come the prince and Claudio.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.

D. Pedro. Good-morrow to this fair assembly.

Leott. Good-morrow, prince: good-morrow, Claudio: We here attend you. Arc you yet determin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiop.

Leott. Call her forth, brother: here's the friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.

D. Pedro. Good-morrow, Benedick. Why, what's That you have such a February face, [the matter, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness!

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull.— Tush! fear not, man; well tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee; As once Europa did at lusty Jove. When he would play the noble beast In love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow. And got a calf in that same noble feat. Much Like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Ctaitd. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings. Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked. Which is the lady I must seize upon T

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.

Claud. Why, then she's mine.—Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar: I am your husband, if you like of me.

Here. And when 1 liv'd, I was your other wife:

[Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.

Claud. Another Herol

Hero. Nothing certainer:

One Mero died defucl; but I do live,
And surely as I live, I am a maid,

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.

Friar. All this amazement can 1 qualify:
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
III tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
Meantime. let wonder seem familiar.
And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.—Which is Beatrice T

Heat. [Unmasking.] I answer to that name. What is your will T

Bene. Do not you love met

Beat. Why, no; no more than reason.

Bene. Why. then, your uncle, and the prince, and
Claudio,

Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do Dot you love me?

Bene. Troth, no; no more than reason.

Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much cieceiv'd; for they did swear, you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then, you do not love met

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentle

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another.

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts.—Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you;—but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for 1 was told you were in a consumption.

Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth. [Kissing Jter.

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick, the married man?

Bene. Ill tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No ; if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wearnothing handsome about him. Jn brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what f have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.—For thy part. Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee ; but, in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

Claud. 1 had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends.—Let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may 1 own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterward.

Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music I— Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

Enter a Messenger. Met. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight. And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: 111 devise thee brave punishments for him.—Strike up, pipers I [Dance. Exeunt.

ACT I.

SCENE L—A Park, with a Palace in it.

Enter I he King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain.

King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs. And then grace us in the disgrace of death; "When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge. And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors,—for so you are, That war against your own affections. And the huge army of the world's desires,— Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumain, ana Longaville, Have sworn for three years* term to live with roe, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes That are recorded hi this schedule here: Your oaths are past; and now subscribe your names, That his own hand may strike his honour down, That violates the smallest branch herein: If you are ann'd to do, as sworn to do. Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

Long. I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years' fast The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty hits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's Kiscr slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.

Biron. t can but say their protestation over;
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn.
That is. to live ana study here three years.
But there are other strict observances:
As, not to see a woman in that term,—
Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
And one day in a week to touch no food.
And but one meal on every day beside,—
The which 1 hope is not enrolled there;
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night.
And not be seen to wink of all the day,
(When I was wont to think no harm all night.
And make a dark night too of half the day,)—
Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,—
Not to sec ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an" if you please I only swore to study with your grace. And stay here in your court for three years* space.

Long. You swore to that, Biron. and to the rest.

Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study! let me know.

King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. [mon sense?

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from com

King. Ay, tliat is study's god-like recompense.

Biron. Come on, then; I win swear tt study so.

To know the thing I am forbid to know:
As thus,—to study where 1 well may dint,

When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine.

When mistresses from common sense are hid;
Or, having sworn too hard-n-keeping oath.
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus, and this be so.
Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

King, These be the stops that binder study quite. And train our intellects to vain delight.

Biron. Why.all delights are vain; but that most vail* Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book

To seek the light of truth: while truth the while Doth falsely blindthe eyesight of his look:

Light, seeking light, doth light ul light beguile:
So, ere you rind where light m drfrkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed.

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,

And give him li^ht that it was blinded by.
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,

That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won.

Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,

That give a name to every fixed star. Have no more profit of their shining nights

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. King. How well he's reaa, to reason against reading! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding 1 Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.

Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a Dum. How follows that f [breeding. Biron. Fit in his place and time.

Dum. In reason nothing.

Biron. Something, then, in rhyme.

King. Biron is like an envmn, sneaping frost,

That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. WeQ, say I am; why should proud summer boast

Before the birds have any cause to sing?

Why should I joy in an abortive birth?

At Christmas I no more desire a rose

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;

But like of each thing that in season grows.

5o you, to study now it is too late.

Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.
King. Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu I
Biron. No, my good lord, I have sworn to stay with
you:

And though I have for barbarism spoke more
Than lor that an^el knowledge you can say,

Yet confident I'll keep to what I swore.

And bide the peiiance of each three years' day.

Give me the paper,—let me read the same;

And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.