Dogb. Why, then depart in Peace, and let the child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never anfwer a calf when he bleats.

Verg. 'Tis very true.

Dogb. This is the end of the Charge: you, conftable, are to present the Prince's own person; if you meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him.

Verg. Nay, birlady, that, I think, he cannot.

Dogb. Five shillings to one on't with any man that knows the Statues, he may stay him; marry, not without the Prince be willing: for, indeed, the Watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will.

Verg. Birlady, I think, it be so.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! well, masters, good night; an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me; keep your fellow's counsels and your own, and good night; come, neighbour.

2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge; let us go fit here upon the church-bench 'till two, and then all to bed.

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the Wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coil to night; adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you.

Enter Borachio and Conrade.

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.

[Afide.

Bora. What? Conrade

Watch. Peace, stir not.

Bora. Conrade, I fay,

Con. Here, Man, I am at thy elbow.

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd, I thought there

would a scab follow.

Conr. I will owe thee an answer for that, and now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.

Watch.

Watch. Some Treason, masters; yet stand close. Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don Jobn a thousand ducats.

Conr. Is it possible that any Villany should be so dear?

Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible any villany should be so rich? for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.

Conr. I wonder at it.

Bora. That shews, thou art unconfirm'd; thou knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man.

Conr. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean the fashion.

Conr. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tush, I may as well say, the fool's the Fool; but fee'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion is?

Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief these seven years; he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name.

Bora. Didst thou not hear some body ?
Conr. No, 'twas the vane on the house.

Bora. Seeft thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is ? how giddily he turns about all the hotbloods between fourteen and five and thirty; sometimes, fashioning them like Pharao's soldiers in the reachy Painting; sometimes, like the God Bel's priests in the old church-window; sometimes, like the shaven Hercules in the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massie as his club.

Con. All this I see, and see, that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man; but art not thou thy self giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

1

Bora. Not so neither; but know, that I have to night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's Gentlewoman, by the name of Hero; she leans me out at her mistress's

chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night

I tell this tale vildly - I should first tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my maiter, planted and placed, and poffefsed by my master Don John, faw a far off in the orchard this amiable encounter.

Conr. And thought they, Margaret was Hero?

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master knew, she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first possest them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any flander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; fwore, - he would meet her as he was appointed next morning at the Temple, and there before the whole Congregation shame her with what he saw o'er night, and fend her home again without a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name, stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right master conftable; we have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the common-wealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock.

Conr. Masters, masters,

(12)

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I

warrant you.

Conr. Masters,

1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly Commodity, being taken up of these mens bills.

(12) Conr. Masters, Masters,

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Conr. Masters, never speak, we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.] The different Regulation which I have made in this laft Speech, tho' against the Authority of all the printed Copies, I flatter my self, carries its Proof with it. Conrade and Borachio are not design'd to talk absurd Nonsense (that is the diftinguishing Characteristick of the Constable and Watch.] It is evident therefore, that Conrade is attempting his own Justification; but is interrupted in it by the Impertinence of the Men

in Office.

VOL. II.

C

Conr.

Conr. A commodity in question, I warrant you : [Exeunt. come, we'll obey you.

SCENE, Hero's Apartment in Leonato's House.

Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.

Hero. OOD Urfula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and

G

defire her to rife.

Urfu. I will, lady.

Hero. And bid her come hither.

Urfu. Well.

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

Marg. By my troth, it's not fo good; and I war

rant, your cousin will say so.

Hero. My coufin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll wear none 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 so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

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

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy! Mar. 'Twill be heavier soon 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 elfe, here she comes.

Enter

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 my heels.

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis 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 I, but God send every one their heart's defire!

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

Beat. I am stufft, cousin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and stufft! there's goodly catching of cold.

Beat. O, God help me, God help me, how long have you profest apprehenfion ? 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 fick.

Marg. Get you some of this distill'd Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedictus? why Benedittus? you have fome

moral in this Benedictus.