Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some 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. et

Pedro. If he should, it were an Alms to hang him; she's an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all fufpicion) The is virtuous.

CityClaud. And she is exceeding wife.wor

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Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick.s Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so 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 bestow'd this dotage on me; I would have dafft 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 she will die; for she says, The will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known; and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustom'd crossness.

!

Pedro. She doth well; if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible, he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit 7. 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, shew some sparks that are

like wit.דבר. ז

: Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I affure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wife; for either

1

Contemptible Spirit.] That is, a temper inclined to scorn and contempt. It has been before remarked, that our author uses

his verbal adjectives with great licence. There is therefore no need of changing the word with Sir T. Hanmer to contemptuous.

he

;

he avoids them with great difcretion, or undertakes them with a christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily 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, howsoever it seems not in him, by fome large jefts he will make. Well, I am forry for your Niece: shall we go feek 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.

Pedro. Well, we will 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 fee how much he is unworthy to have 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. [Afide.

Pedro. Let there be the fame net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when they hold an opinion of one another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the Scene that I would fee, which will be meerly a Dumb Show; let us send her to call him to dinner. [Afide.) [Exeunt.

SCENEX.

Benedick advances from the Arbour.

Bene. This can be no trick, the conference was fadly borne. 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 say, I will bear

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bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any fign 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 say, the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness. And virtuous; - 'tis so, 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 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 batchelor, I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. 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 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 message. Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choak a daw withal You have no stomach, Signior; fare you well. [Exit.

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 those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; that's as much as to say, any pains

that

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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 Ι.

G

Continues in the Orchard.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.

HERO.

OOD Margaret, run thee into thee parlour,
There shalt thou find my Coufin Beatrice,

Propofing 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-fuckles, ripen'd by the Sun,
Forbid the Sun to enter; like to Favourites,
Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her,
To liften our Purpose; this is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

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

[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 fick in love with Beatrice; of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,

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That

1

That only wounds by hear-say: now begin.

Enter Beatrice, running towards the Arbour.

For look, where Beatrice, like lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference.
Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to fee 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 lose no

thing

Of the false-fweet bait that we lay for it.
No, truly, Urfula, she's too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

Urf. But are you fure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

4

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 perfuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,

To wish him wrestle with affection,

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urf. Why did you fo? 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

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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,
* Mif-prizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak; she cannot love,

* Misprising.] Despising; contemning.

"

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Nor