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for fhe'll be up twenty times a-night; and there will fhe fit in her fmock, 'till fhe have writ a fheet of paper: my daughter tells us all.

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jeft your daughter told us of.

Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, fhe found Benedick and Beatrice between the fheet?

Claud. That.

Leon. O, fhe tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; rail'd at herself, that she should be fo immodeft, to write to one that she knew would flout her: I measure him, fays fhe, by my own fpirit; for I fhould flout him if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I fhould.

Claud. Then down upon her knees fhe falls, weeps, fobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curfes; o fweet Benedick! god give me patience!

Leon. She doth, indeed, my daughter fays fo; and the ecstasy hath so much overborn her, that my daughter is fometime afraid fhe will do a desperate outrage to herself; it is very true.

Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by fome other, if she will not discover it.

Claud. To what end? he would but make a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

Pedro. If he should, it were an alms to hang him: she's an excellent fweet lady, and, out of all fufpicion, she is virtuous. Claud. And fhe is exceeding wife.

Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in fo tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory : I am forry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

Pedro. I would, she had beftow'd this dotage on me; I would have dofft all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will fay.

Leon. Were it good, think you?

Claud. Hero thinks furely, fhe will die, for fhe fays she will

VOL. I.

Nnn

die

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die if he love her not; and fhe will die ere fhe make her love known; and she will die if he woo her, rather than fhe will bate one breath of her accuftom'd croffnefs.

Pedro. She doth well; if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very poffible he'll fcorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptuous spirit.

Claud. He is a very proper man.

Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness.
Claud. 'Fore god, and, in my mind, very wife.

Pedro. He doth, indeed, fhow fome sparks that are like wit.
Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I affure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may fee he is wife; for either he avoids them with great difcretion, or undertakes them with a chriftian-like fear." Well, I am forry for your neice: fhall we go fee 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 impoffible; fhe may wear her heart out first. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could with he would modeftly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy to have fo 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 truft my expectation.

Pedro. Let there be the fame net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry; the fport will be, when they hold an opinion of one another's dotage, and no fuch matter; that's the scene that I would fee, which will be merely a dumb fhow; let us fend her to call him in to dinner.

a chriftian-like fear.

[Exeunt.

Leon. If he do fear god, he muft neceffarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

Pedro. And fo will he do, for the man doth fear god, howfoever it seems not in him, by fome large jests he will make.

Well, &c.

SCENE

SCENE X.

Benedick advances from the arbour.

Bene. This can be no trick; the conference was sadly born: they have the truth of this from Hero; they feem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have the full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited: I hear how I am cenfur'd; they fay, I will bear myfelf 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 feem proud — happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending: they fay, the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness: and virtuous; 'tis fo, I cannot reprove it: and wife, 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 to have fome 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 fentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? no: the world must be peopled. When I faid, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. Here comes Beatrice: by this day, fhe's a fair lady; I do fpy fome marks of love in her.

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am fent 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 meffage?

Beat. Yea, juft fo much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal: you have no ftomach, fignior; fare you well.

Nnn 2

[Exit.

Bene.

Bene. Ha! against my will I am fent to bid you come in to dinner: there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for thofe thanks, than you took pains to thank me: that's as much as to fay, any pains that I take for you are 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 few; I will go get her picture.

[Exit.

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ACT III. SCENE I.

Continues in the garden.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Urfula.

HERO.

OOD Margaret, run thee into the parlour;
There fhalt thou find my coufin Beatrice,
Proposing with the prince and Claudio;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Urfula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole difcourfe
Is all of her; say, 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 to favourites
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride

Against that power that bred it: there will the hide her,
To listen to our purpose: this is thy office;

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant, presently.

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 praise him more than ever man did merit :
My talk to thee must be how Benedick

[Exit.

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, running towards the arbour.
For look, where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference.
Urf. The pleasant'ft angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the filver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait :
So angle we for Beatrice; who e'en 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 false sweet bait that we lay for it.
No, truly, Urfula, fhe's too difdainful :
I know, her fpirits 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 with 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 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 :
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself fo highly, that to her

All

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