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D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring signior Benedick, and the lady Beatrice, into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.

Lean. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings.

Claud. And I, my lord.

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?

both to the prince and Claudio, as-in love of your
brother's honour who hath made this match; and his
friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with
the semblance of a maid,-that you have discovered
thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial;
offer them instances; which shall bear no less likeli
hood, than to see me at her chamber-window; hear
me call Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret term me Bo-
rachio; and bring them to see this, the very night be.
fore the intended wedding: for, in the mean time, I
will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent;
and there shall appear such seeming truths of Hero's
disloyalty, that jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and
all the preparation overthrown.

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I
will put it in practice: Be cunning in the working
this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help riage. my cousin to a good husband.

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know; thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick :-and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-Another room in Leonato's House. Enter Don John and Borachio.

D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry daughter of Leonato.

Bera. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.


D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him;

and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this mar riage?

Bera. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me.

D. John. Show me briefly how.

Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gen

flewoman to Hero.

D. John. I remember.

Bera. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamberwindow.

D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the reBowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. D. John. What proof shall I make of that? Bera. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato: Look you for any other issue?

D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.

Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro, and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, that you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal

D. John. I will presently go learn their day of mar [Exeunt. SCENE III-Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and a Boy.

Bene. Boy,-
Boy. Signior.

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the orchard.

Boy. I am here already, sir.

Bene. I know that;-but I would have thee hence,
and here again. [Exit Boy.]-I do much wonder, that
one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when
he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath
laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the
argument of his own scorn, by falling in love: And
such a man is Claudio. I have known, when there
was no music with him but the drum and file; and
now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe. I have
known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to
see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights
awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was
wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an hon-
est man, and a soldier; and now is he turn'd orthogra-
pher; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so
many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see
with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will
not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster;
but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oys-
ter of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One
woman is fair; yet I am well: another is wise; yet I
am well: another virtuous; yet I am well: But till
all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come
in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise,
or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair,
or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me;
noble, or not for an angel; of good discourse, an ex-
cellent musician, and her hair shail be of what colour
it please God. Ha! the prince and monsieur Love! I
will hide me in the arbour.

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud. Yea, my good lord :-how still the evening is,
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid him-

Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.

Enter Balthazar, with music.
D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song


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Sing no more ditties, sing no mo’
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so,
D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song..
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.

D. Pedro. Ha? no; no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.

Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him: and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as hef have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.

D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.]-Dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window.

Balth. The best I can, my lord.

D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exe. Balth. and music.]-Come hither, Leonato: What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick?

Claud. O, ay:-Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man.

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.

Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner:

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D. Pedro, How, how, I pray you? You amaze me : I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.

Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up.

[Aside. D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her


Claud. "Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: Shalt I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him?

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night; and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a sheet of paper:-my daughter tells us all.

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remem ber a pretty jest your daughter told us of.

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

Claud. That.

Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she could be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her: I measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ;O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!

Leon. She doth, indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate outrage to herself; It is very true.

D. 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.

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him: She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous.

Claud. And she is exceeding wise.

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 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 sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

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

Leon. Were it good, think you?

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die: for she says, she will die if he love her not; and she will die ere she make her love known; and she will die if he woo

ber, rather than she will hate one breath of her accus

tomed crossness.

D. 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. Claud. He is a very proper man.

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am sent 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

D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happi- would not have come.

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Claud. Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit.

Leen. And I take him to be valiant.

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most 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.

D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece: Shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her love?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leen. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her heart out first.

D. Pedro. Well, we'll 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 see how much he is unworthy 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. [Aside.

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman arry. The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner.

[Aride. Exe. D. Ped. Claud. and Leon.

Benedick advances from the arbour.

Bene. This can be no trick: The conference was madly borne.-They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. I hear, how I am censured: they say, I will bear myself 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 seem proud:-happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They my, the lady is fair;-'tis a truth, I can bear them witDess: and virtuous;-'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, 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 have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed 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 o his humour? No: The world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.-Here comes Beatrice: By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.

Bene. You take pleasure in the message?

Beat. Yea; just so much as you may take upon a knife's point. and choke a daw withal :-You have no stomach, signior; fare you well. [Exit.

Bene. Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid you come to dinner-there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took hains to thank me-that's as much as to say, Any pains 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. [Exil.


SCENE I-Leonato's Garden. Enter Hero, Margeret, and Ursula. Hero.

GOOD Margaret, run thee into the parlour;
There thou shalt find my cousin Beatrice,
Proposing 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 overheardst us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter;-like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it :-there will she hide

To listen our propose: This is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Mar. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

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 sick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin;
Enter Beatrice, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture:
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero. Then go we near her, that her car lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.-

[They advance to the bower.

No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?
Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.
Ura. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?


Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it:
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. Why did you so? 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
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,
Misprizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.


Sure, I think so;

And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero. Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward: if fair fae'd,
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut:

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs. Sure, sure, such earping is not commendable.
Hero. No: not to be so odd, and from all fashions,

As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself. press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks;
Which is as bad as die with tickling.

Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.
Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion :
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with: One doth not know,
How much an ill word may empoison liking.

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgement,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.
Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.-
When are you married, madam?

Hero. Why, every day;-to-morrow: Come, go in;
I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel,
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.
Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught
her, madam.

Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.

Beatrice advancing.

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true!
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band:
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly.


SCENE II-A Room in Leunato's House. Enter Don
Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me.

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I; methinks, you are sadder. Claud. I hope, he be in love.

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love: if he be sad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the tooth-ach.
D. Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it!

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach?

Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm? Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it.

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutch-man to-day; a French-man to-mor row; or in the shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o' mornings; What should that bode?

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls.

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard.

D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: Can you smell him out by that?

Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet youth's in love.

D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him.

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which has now crept into a lute string and now governed by stops."

D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: Conclude, conclude, he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

D. Pedro. That would I know too; I warrant, one

that knows him not.

my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself.

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned !
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!
D. John. O plague right well prevented!

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exe. of all, dies for him.

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.

Bear. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach.-Old signior, walk aside with me; I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobbyhorses must not hear. [Exe, Bene. and Leon.

D. Pedre. For my life, to break with him about Be


Claud. "Tis even so: Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another, when they meet.

Enter Don John.

D. John. My lord and brother, God save you.
D. Pedra, Good den, brother

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you.

D. Pedro. In private?

D. John. If it please you;—yet count Claudio may hear; for what I would speak of, concerns him. D. Pedro. What's the matter?

D. John. Means your lordship to be married to-mor Tow? [To Claudio.

D. Pedro. You know, he does.

D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, discover it.

D. John. You may think, I love you not; let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I will now manifest: For my brother, I think, he holds you well; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your easting marriage: surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed!

D Pedro. Why, what's the matter?

D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstanees shortened, (for she hath been too long a talking ef) the lady is disloyal.

Claud, Who? Hero?

D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero.

Clarul. Disloyal?

SCENE III-A Street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.

Dogb. Are you good men and true?

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch.

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dog herry.

Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless man to be cunstable?

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read.

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal: God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

2 Watch. Both which, master constable,

Dogb. You have; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it: and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the lantern: This is youf charge; You shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name.

2 Watch. How if he will not stand?

Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave.

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects.

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects:-You shall also make no noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured.

2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we know what belongs to a watch.

Dogh. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping shouk! offend only, have a care that your bills be not stolen:

that are drunk get them to bed.

2 Watch. How if they will not?

D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wick--Well, you are to call at the ale-houses, and bid those adness; I could say, she were worse; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me to-night, you shall me her chamber-window entered; even the night before her wedding day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change your mind.

Claud. May this be so?

D. Pedro. I will not think it.

D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know: if you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have seen more, and heard mere, proceed accordingly.

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow; in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.

Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch. Well, sir.

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man: and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them why, the more is for your honesty.

2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?

Dogb. Truly, by your office you may but. I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most pace able way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your com

D. Prire. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I pany. will goin with thee to disgrace her.

Verg. You have always been called a merciful man,

D. Jln. I will disparage her no farther, till you are partner.

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