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Hero. G

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Enter Hero, Margaret, and Urfula.

OOD Urfula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and defire her to rife.

Urf. I will, lady.

Hero. And bid her come hither.

Urf. Well.

Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

[Exit.

Marg. By my troth, it's not fo good, and, I warrant, your coufin will fay fo.

Hero. My coufin's a fool, and thou art another: I'll wear none but this.

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion, i̇' faith. I faw the dutchefs of Milan's gown that they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they fay.

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours; cloth of gold, and cuts, and lac'd with filver, fet with pearls down-fleeves, fide-fleeves, and skirts round, underborn with a blueish tinsel; but for a fine, queint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy!

Marg. 'Twill be heavier foon by the weight of a man.
Hero. Fie upon thee! art not asham'd?

Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me fay (faving your reverence) a husband. If bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend no body: is there any harm in the heavier for a husband?

husband? none, I think, if it be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise, 'tis light, and not heavy; ask my lady Beatrice elfe, here fhe comes.

SCENE VII.

Enter Beatrice.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.

Beat. Good morrow, fweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the fick tune?
Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you fing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels! then if your husband have stables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns.

Marg. O illegitimate conftruction! I fcorn that with my heels. Beat. 'Tis almoft five o'clock, coufin; 'tis time you were ready: by my troth, I am exceeding ill: hey ho!

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, if you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more failing by the ftar.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?

Marg. Nothing I: but god fend every one their heart's defire! Hero. These gloves the count fent me, they are an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am ftuff'd, coufin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid and stuff'd! there's a goodly catching of cold. Beat. O, god help me! god help me! how long have you profefs'd apprehenfion?

Marg. Ever fince you left it; doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. It is not feen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am fick.

Marg. Get you fome of this diftill'd Carduus Benedi&tus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'ft her with a thistle.

VOL. I.

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Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus.

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thiftle; you may think, perchance, that I think you are in love; nay, birlady, I am not fuch a fool to think what I lift; nor I lift not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out with thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore, he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted I know not; but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other women do.

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ?
Marg. Not a false gallop.

Enter Urfula.

Urf. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, fignior Benedick, don John, and all the gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to church.

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Urfula.

[Exeunt.

Leon.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Leonato, with Dogberry, and Verges. 'HAT would you with me, honeft neighbour? Dogb. Marry, fir, I would have fome confidence with that decerns you nearly.

WHAT

you

Leon. Brief, I pray you, for you fee 'tis a bufy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, fir.

Verg. Yes, in truth, it is, fir.

Leon. What is it, my good friends ?

Dogb. Goodman Verges, fir, fpeaks a little of the matter: an old man, fir, and his wits are not fo blunt, as, god help, I would defire they were; but, in faith, as honeft as the skin between his brows.

Verg.

Verg. Yes, I thank god, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I.

Dogh. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ah?

Dogb. Yea, and twice a thousand times more than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And fo am I.

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.

Verg. Marry, fir, our watch to-night, excepting your worfhip's presence, hath ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Melfina.

Dogb. A good old man, fir; he will be talking; as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out; god help us! it is a world to fee! well faid, i' faith, neighbour Verges; well, he's a good man; an two men ride an horse, one must ride behind: an honeft foul, i'faith, fir; by my troth, he is, as ever broke bread: but, god is to be worship'd; all men are not alike; alas, good neighbour! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too fhort of you. Dogb. Gifts that god gives.

Leon. I muft leave you.

Dogb. One word, fir; our watch have, indeed, comprehended two aufpicious perfons, and we would have them this morning examin'd before your worship.

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me; I am now in great hafte, as may appear unto you.

Dogb. It shall be suffigance.

Leon. Drink fome wine ere you go: fare you well.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her

husband.

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Leon. I'll wait upon them: I am ready.

[Exit. Leon. Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the jail; we are now to examine those men.

Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will fpare for no wit, I warrant; here's that shall drive fome of them to a non-come. Only get the learned writer to fet down our excommunication, and meet me at the jail. Exeunt.

***

ACT IV. SCENE I.

A church.

Enter D. Pedro, D. John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice.

C

LEONATO.

YO ME, friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards.

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
Claud. No.

Leon. To be marry'd to her, friar; you come to marry her.
Friar. Lady, you come hither to be marry'd to this count?
Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you fhould not be conjoin'd, I charge you, on your fouls, to utter it. Claud. Know you any, Hero?

Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, count?

Leon. I dare make his anfwer, none.

Claud. O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do!

Bene.

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