Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day, Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience and endure. [Exeunt. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not defire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. Bene. Surely, I do believe, your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch friendship? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that ftrange? Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not; it were as poffible for me to fay, I loved nothing fo well as you; but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I con 4 SCENE III.] The poet, in my opinion, has fhewn a great deal of addrefs in this fcene. Beatrice here engages her lover to revenge the injury done her coufin Hero: And without this very natural incident, confidering the character of Beatrice, and that the story of her Paffion for Benedick was all a fable, the could never have been easily or naturally brought to confefs fhe loved him, notwithstanding all the foregoing preparation. And yet, on this confeffion, in this very place, depended the whole fuccefs of the plot upon her and Benedick. For had she not owned her love here, they must have foon found out the trick, and then the defign of bringing them together had been defeated; and fhe would never have owned a paffion fhe had been only tricked into, had not her defire of revenging her coufin's wrong made her drop her capricious humour at once. WARBURTON. fefs fefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forrry for my coufin. Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me.. Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it. Bene. I will fwear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says, I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I proteft, I love thee. Beat. Why then, God forgive me. Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice? Beat. You have stay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to proteft, I lov'd you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with fo much of my heart, that none is left to proteft. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. You kill me to deny; farewel. Bene. Tarry, fweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, Beat. In faith, I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy. Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, dishonour'd my kinfwoman! O, that I were a man! what! bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then with publick accufation, uncover'd flander, unmitigated rancour O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Hear me, Beatrice. R 3 Beat. Beat. Talk with a man out at a window?-a proper faying! Bene. Nay, but Beatrice. Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, she is flander'd, fhe is undone. Bene. Beat Beat Princes and Counts! furely, a princely teflimony, a goodly count-comfect, a fweet gallant, furely! O that I were a man for his fake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! but manhood is melted into curtefies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lye, and fwears it: I cannot be a man with wifhing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand, I love thee. Beat. Ufe it for my love fome other way than fwearing by it. Bene. Think you in your foul, the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? Beat. Yea, as fure as I have a thought or a foul. Bene. Enough, I am engag'd; I will challenge him, I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you; by this hand, Claudio fhall render me a dear account; as you hear of me, fo think of me; go comfort your coufin; I must fay, fhe is dead, and fo farewel [Exeunt. Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the To. Cl. S our whole diffembly appear'd? Dogb. O, a ftool and a cushion for the fexton ! Sexton. Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Verg. Marry, that am I and my Partner. Dogb. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examin'd? let them come before mafter conftable. To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before me; what is your name, friend? Bora. Borachio. To. Cl. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, Sirrah? Conr. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Conrade. To. Cl. Write down, mafter gentleman Conrade ; mafters, do you ferve God? Both. Yea, Sir, we hope 5. To. Cl. Write down, that they hope they serve God: and write God firft: for God defend, but God fhould go before fuch villains-Mafters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will, go near to be thought fo fhortly; how answer you for yourselves? Conr. Marry, Sir, we fay, we are none. To. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow, I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, firrah, a word in your ear, Sir; I fay to you, it is thought you are both falfe knaves. Bora. Sir, I fay to you, we are none. To. Cl. Well, ftand afide; 'fore God, they are both in a tale; have you writ down, that they are none? Sexton, Mafter town clerk, you go not the way to examine, you must call the watch that are their accufers. To. Cl. Yea, marry, that's the defteft way, let the Watch come forth; mafters, I charge you in the Prince's name accufe these men. Enter Watchmen, I Watch. This man faid, Sir, that Don John the Prince's brother was a villain. To. Cl. Write down, Prince John a villain; why this is flat perjury, to call a Prince's brother villain, Bora. Mafter town-clerk To. Cl. Pray thee, fellow, Peace; I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him fay elfe? 2 Watch. Marry, that he had receiv'd a thousand ducats of Don John, for accufing the lady Hero wrongfully. To. Cl. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Sexton. What else, fellow? 1 Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon 6 To. Cl. Yea, marry, that's the eafieft Way, let the Watch come forth. This, eafieft, is a Sophiftication of our modern Editors, who were at a Loss to make out the corrupted Reading of the old Copies. The Quarto, in too, and the first and fecond Editions in Folio all concur in reading; Yea, marry, that's the efteft way, &c. A Letter happen'd to flip out at Prefs in the firft Edition; and 'twas too hard a Task for the fubfequent Editors to put it in, or guess at the word under this ac, Vid. Spelman's Saxon. Gloff. his |