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Dogb. I leave an errant knave with your worship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish your worship well; God restore you to health ; I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it. — Come, neighbor.

[Exeunt DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Watch. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare well. Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-morrow. D. Pedro. We will not fail. Claud.

To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Mar

garet, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Exeunt.

he Marg. Will you thang me to the speech oft, deserve well

SCENE II. Leonato's Garden. Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting. Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me? Why, shall I always keep below stairs ?

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth; it catches.

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. · Marg. Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs.

[Exit MARGARET. Bene. And therefore will come. The god of love,

[Singing. That sits above, And knows me, and knows me,

How pitiful I deserve,

Only roth passed bthat I came

I mean, in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried; I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent rhyme; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme; for school, fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.

Enter BEATRICE.
Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee?

Beat. Yea, seignior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene. O, stay but till then!

Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now. — And yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will 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?

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. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for 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 of good neighbors. 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 clamor, and a quar-

If you spite it that which mo wise to Wor

ch for praising his own vinpediment to wise

ter 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 praiseworthy;) and now tell me, how doth your cousin ?

Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter URSULA. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home. It is proved my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and don John is the author of all, who is filed and gone. Will you come presently?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, seignior?

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's.

[Exeunt. 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 fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it.

Praising her when I am dumb.
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

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.
Vol. I. – 25

Midnight assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan,

Heavily, heavily.
Graves, yawn and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,

Heavenly, heavenly.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters. Put your torches out;

The wolves have preyed; and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phæbus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well.

Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way.

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato's we will go.

Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds, Than this, for whom we rendered up this woe! [Ereunt.

m Dapples theels of Pend, and look, Put your t

- 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 accused her
Upon the error that you heard debated.
But Margaret was in some fault for this;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforced To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves;
And, when I send for you, come hither masked.
The prince and Claudio promised 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.

Ant. Which I will do with confirmed countenance.
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
Friar. To do what, seignior ?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.-
Seignior Leonato, truth it is, good seignior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favor.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her. 'Tis most true. 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 will ?

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoined
In the estate of honorable 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 determined
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 leaped your father's cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.
Claud. For this I owe you; here comes other reckoning.
Which is the lady I must seize upon ?

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand 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.

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