Wash'd it with Tears? Hence from her, let her die.

Frier. Hear me a little, for I have only been filent fo long and given way unto this courfe of Fortune, by noting of the Lady. I have mark'd

A thousand blushing Apparitions

To start into her Face, a thousand innocent Shames
In Angel whiteness bear away those Blushes,
And in her Eye there hath appear'd a Fire
To burn the Errors that these Princes hold
Against her Maiden Truth. Call me a Fool,
Truft not my Reading, nor my Obfervations,
Which with experimental Seal doth warrant
The tenure of my Book; truft not my Age,
My Reverence, Calling, nor Divinity,
If this fweet Lady lye not guiltless here,
Under fome biting Error.

Leon. Frier, it cannot be;

Thou feeft that all the Grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her Damnation
A Sin of Perjury, the not denies it:

Why feek'st thou then to cover with Excuse,
That which appears in proper Nakedness?

Frier. Lady, what Man is he you are accus'd of?

Hero. They know that do accufe me, I know none:
If I know more of any Man alive

Than that which maiden Modesty doth warrant,
Let all my Sins lack Mercy. O my Father,
Prove you that any Man with me convers'd
At Hours unmeet, or that I yefternight
Maintain'd the Change of Words with any Creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to Death.

Frier. There is fome ftrange Mifprifion in the Prince.
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of Honour,
And if their Wisdoms be mifs-led in this,

The Practice of it lives in John the Bastard,

Whose Spirits toil in frame of Villanies.

Leon. I know not: If they speak but Truth of her,
These Hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her Honour,
The proudeft of them shall well hear of it.

Time hath not yet fo dry'd this Blood of mine,
Nor Age fo eat up my Invention,

Nor

Nor Fortune made fuch Havock of my Means,
Nor my bad Life reft me so much of Friends,
But they fhall find awak'd in fuch a kind,
Both Strength of Limb, and Policy of Mind,
Ability in Means, and Choice of Friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.
Frier. Paufe a while,

And let my Counsel fway you in this cafe.'
Your Daughter here the Princess (left for dead)
Let her awhile be fecretly kept in,

And publish it that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning Oftentation,
And on your Family's old Monument
Hang mournful Epitaphs, and do all Rites

That appertain unto a Burial.

Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do?

Frier. Marry, this well carry'd, fhall on her behalf Change Slander to Remorfe, that is fome good: But not for that, dream I on this ftrange course, But on this Travel look for greater Birth: She dying, as it must be so maintain❜d, Upon the Inftant that he was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd Of every Hearer: For fo it falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft, Why then we rack the Value, then we find The Virtue that Poffeffion would not fhew us Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio: When he shall hear the dy'd upon his Words, Th' Idea of her Life fhall fweetly creep Into his Study of Imagination,

And every lovely Organ of her Life

Shall come apparel'd in more precious Habit;

More moving, delicate, and full of Life,

Into the Eye and Prospect of his Soul,

Than when she liv'd indeed. Then fhall he mourn,
If ever Love had Intereft in his Liver,
And wish he had not fo accused her;
No, tho' he thought his Accufation true:
Let this be fo, and doubt not but Success

Will fashion the Event in better Shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all Aim but this be level'd false,
The Suppofition of the Lady's Death
Will quench the Wonder of her Infamy.
And if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As beft befits her wounded Reputation,
In fome reclufive and religious Life,

Out of all Eyes, Tongues, Minds, and Injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Frier advise you,'
And tho' you know my Inwardness and Love
Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine Honour, I will deal in this
As fecretly and justly, as your Soul
Should with your Body.

Leon. Being that I flow in Grief,
The smalleft Twine may lead me.

Frier. 'Tis well confented, presently away,

For to ftrange Sores, ftrangely they strain the Cure:
Come Lady, die to live; this Wedding-Day

Perhaps is but prolong'd, have Patience and endure. [Exeunt.
Manent Benedick and Beatrice.

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 deferve of me that

would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch Friendship?

Beat. A very even way, but no fuch Friend.

Bene. May a Man do it?

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 strange?

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 lye not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing: I am forry for my Coufin.

Bene. By my Sword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me.

Beat. Do not fwear by it and eat it.

VOL. I.

B b

Bene

1

Bene. I will fwear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that fays I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your Word?

Bene. With no Sauce 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 ftay'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 so much of my Heart, that none

is left to proteft.

Bene. Come bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide World.

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 firft.

Beat. You dare cafier be Friends with me, than fight with mine Enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine Enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height aVillain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, difhonour'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 Slander, unmittigated Rancour God that I were a Man, I would eat his Heart in the Market Place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

O

Beat. Talk with a Man out at a Window a proper Saying.

Bene. Nay but Beatrice.

Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, she is flander'd, she is undone.

Bene. But

Beat. Princes and Counties! furely a princely Teftimony, a goodly Count-Comfect, a fweet Gallant furely; O that I were a Man for his fake! or that I had any Friend

would

would be a Man for my fake! But Manhood is melted into Curtefies, Valour into Compliment, and Men are only turn'd into Tongue, and trim ones too; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a Lie, 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. Use it for my Love fome other way than fwearing by it.

Bene. Think wrong'd Hero?

you in your

Soul the Count Claudie hath

Beat. Yea, as fure as I have a Thought or a Soul. Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him, 1 will kifs your Hand, and fo leave you; by this Hand, Claudio fhall render me dear Account; as you hear of me, fo think of me; go comfort your Coufin, I muft say the is dead, and fo farewel. [Exeunt. Enter Dogberry, Virges, Borachio, Conrade, the TownClerk and Sexton in Gowns.

To. Cl. Is our whole Diffembly appear'd?

Dog. O a Stool and Cushion for the Sexton.
Sexton. Which be the Malefactors?

Verg. Marry that am I, and my Partner.

Dog. Nay, that's certain, we have the Exhibition to

examine.

Sexton. But which are the Offenders that are to be examined? Let them come before Mafter Conftable.

To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before me; what is your Name Friend?

Bora. Borachia.

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? Mafters, it is proved already that you are little better than falfe Knaves, and it will go near to be thought fo fhortly; how answer you for your felves? Conr. Marry, Si, we fay we are none:

To. Cl. A marvellous witty Fellow I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, Sirrah, a Word in your Ear, Sir, I fay to you, it is thought you are false Knaves.