Cland. What! Courage Man: What tho' Care kill'd a Cat, thou haft Mettle enough to kill Care.

Ben. Sir, I fhall meet your Wit in the Career, and you charge it against me. I pray you chufe another Subject. Claud. Nay, then give him another Staff, this laft was

broke cross.

Pedro. By this Light he changes more and more: I think he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his Girdle.
Bene. Shall I fpeak a Word in your Ear?

Claud. God bless me from a Challenge.

Bene. You are a Villain; I jeft not, I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do me right, or I will proteft your Cowardife: You have kill'd a fweet Lady, and her Death fhall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.

Claud. Well I will meet you, foI may have good Cheer.
Pedro. What a Feaft?

Claud. I faith I thank him, he hath bid me to a Calves Head and a Capon, the which if I do not carve moft curiously, fay my Knife's naught. Shall I not find a Woodcock too?

Bene. Sir, your Wit ambles well, it goes eafily.

Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy Wit the other day I faid thou hadft a fine Wit; true fays fhe, a fine little one; no, faid I, a great Wit; right fays fhe, a great grofs one; nay faid I, a good Wit; juft faid fhe, it hurts no body; nay faid I, the Gentleman is wife; certain faid fhe, a wife Gentleman; nay faid I, he hath the Tongues; that I believe, faid fhe, for he fwore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forfwore on Tuesday morning; there's a double Tongue, there's two Tongues. Thus did the an hour together tranf-fhape thy particular Virtues, yet at last fhe concluded with a Sigh, thou waft the propereft Man in Italy.

Claud. For the which the wept heartily, and faid the car'd not.

Pedro. Yea that he did, but yet for all that, and if the did not hate him deadly, fhe would love him dearly, the old Man's Daughter told us all.

Claud

Nor Fortune made fuch Havock of my Means,
Nor my bad Life reft me fo 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 sway 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 shall 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 fhe 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 fhall 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 the 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 juftly, as your Soul
Should with your Body.

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

Frier. 'Tis well confented, prefently away,

For to ftrange Sores, ftrangely they ftrain 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'st me.
Beat. Do not fwear by it and eat it.
VOL. I.

вь

Bene

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 protest 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.

Beat. You dare eafier 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 RancourO God that I were a Man, I would eat his Heart in the Market Place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

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

Bene. Nay but Beatrice.

Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, fhe 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 wishing, 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 wrong'd Here?

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, I 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 must 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 Constable.

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 falfe Knaves.