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Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. kiss thee.

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

But for

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. which of my good parts did you first suffer to love me. Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty, that will praise

himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time o good neighbours : if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you?

Bene. Question?-Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is praise-worthy,) and now tell me, How doth your cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too

SONG.
Pardon, Goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight;
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our mwan;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,

Heavenly, heavenly.

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SCENE IV.-A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDick, Beatrice,
URSULA, Friar, and HERO.

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd
Upon the error that you have heard debated: [her,
But Margaret was in some tault for this;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.

Aut. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves;

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there will And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd!
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

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SCENE III.-The Inside of a Church.
Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with
music and tapers.

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Atten. It is, my lord.

Claud. [Reads from a scroll.]

Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies:

Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,

Gives her fame which never dies:
So the life, that died with shame,
Lives in death with glorious fume.
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [affixing it.
Praising her when I am dumb.-

The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me :-You know your office, brother;
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio [Exeunt Ladies.

Aut. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Bene Friar, I must intreat your pains, I think.
Friar. To do what, signior!

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.—
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. [true.
Le. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon. The sight, whereof, I think, you had from

me,

From Claudio and the prince; But what's your
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: [will!
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the estate of honourable marriage ;—
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help

Here comes the prince, and Claudio.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO, with Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow

Claudio;

We here attend you; Are you yet determin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. [Exit ANTONIO.

D. Pedro, Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's the matter,

That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:-
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's And got a calf in that same noble feat, Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

[cow,

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked. Claud. For this I owe you here come other recWhich is the lady I must seize upon? [konings. Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see your face. [hand, Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife: [Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero?

Hero.

Nothing certainer; One Hero died defil'd; but I do live, And, surely as I live, I am a maid.

;

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; [lived. When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice ? Beat. I answer to that name;

What is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?
Beat. No, no more than reason.

[Unmasking.]

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and
Claudio,

Have been deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. No, no more than reason.

[sula,

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and UrAre much deceiv'd; for they did swear, you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.

nie.

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for love me! Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then you do not Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, 1 ain sure you love the gentleman.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon 't, that he loves her: For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another. Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you ;-but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man?

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, c me, we are friends :- let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, 'o my word; therefore, play music.Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in
Aight,

And brought with armed men back to Messina.
Bene. Think not on him till to morrow; I'll de-
vise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up,
pipers.
[Dance. Exeunt

This play may be justly said to contain two of the most sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, the bannarist, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined in Benedick. It is to be 1.mented, indeed, that the first and most splendid of these distinctions, is disgraced by unnecessary profaneness for the goodness of his heart is hardly sufficient to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic evity, which flashes out in the conversation of Beatrice, may be ex. eused on account of the steadiness and friendship so apparent

in her behaviour, when she urges her lover to risk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the conduct of the fable, however, there is an unperfection similar to that which Dr. Johnson has pointed out in The Merry Wives of Windsor-the second contrivance is less ingenious than the first :- or, to speak more plainly, the same incident is become stale by repetition. I wish some other method had been found to entrap Beatrice than that very one which before had been successfully prac sed on Benedick.-STEVENS.

This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Oct. 8, 1600-And there were two editions of it published in quarto in that year Mr. Malone supposes it to have been written in 1594. It is distinguished by one of the strongest characteristics of ou author's early plays-the recurrence of passages and scenes in rhyme.

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SCENE I.-Athens. A Room in the Palace of
Theseus.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE,
and Attendants.

The. Now, fair IHippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue. [nights;
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

The.

Go, Philostrate,

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.-
[Exit PHILOSTRATE.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp with triumph, and with revelling.
Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS.
Ege. Happy be Theseus, o ir renowned duke! [thee?
The. Thanks, good Egeus: What's the news with

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia.Stand forth, Demetrius ;-My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her :Stand forth, Lysander ;-and, my gracious duke, This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: Thou, thou. Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; And stolen the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,

To stubborn harshness :-And, my gracious duke.
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ;
As she is mine, I may dispose of her :
Which shall be either to this gentleman,
Or to her death; according to our law,
Immediately provided in that case.

The. What say you, Hermia? be advis’d, fair maid ·
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her. So is Lysander. The.

In himself he is: But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice The other must be held the worthier.

Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power 1 am made bold; Nor how it may concern my modesty, In such a presence here to plead my thoughts: But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befal me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.

Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun;
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke

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