Friar. Pause a while,
And let my counsel fway you in this case.
Your daughter here the Princes left for dead ; (17)
Let her a while be secretly 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

Friar. Marry, this, well carry’d, fall on her behalf Change slander to remorse; that is some good; But not for that dream I on this strange course, But on this travel look for greater birth; She dying, as it must be fo maintain’d, Upon the instant that she was accus’d, Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd, Of every

hearer: for it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, (18)

(17) Your Daughter bere the Princess (left for dead) But how comes Hero to fart up a Princess here? We have no intimation of her father being a Prince; and this is the firft and only time that the is complimented with this dignity. The remotion of a single letter, and of the Parent besis, will bring her to her own rank, and the place to its true meaning.

Your Daugbter bere the Princes left for dead; i. e. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon; and his Bastard Brother who is likewise called a Prince. So in the other passages of this Play i

To burn tbe error that tbefe Princes bold.

Agains ber Maiden Honour.
And again.

There is some Arange Misprifion in these Princes.
And again,

I thank you, Princes, for my Daughter's Death.
(18) That, ubat we bave, we prize not to the Worth,

Wbile we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Wby, tben we rack the Value ; tben we find
The Virtue tbat Possession would not few us
Whilft is was ours ---------

-----] Whether this be an imita. tion, or no, I won't contend; but if not, it seems to me a very fine paraphrafe on this passage of Horace; Lib. III. Ode 24.

Virtutem incolumem odimus,
Sublatam ex oculis quærimus invidi.

Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue that possession would not shew us
Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio :
When he shall hear she dy'd upon his words,
Th'idea of her life shall sweetly 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 shall he mourn,
If ever love had interest in his liver,
And with, he had not so accused her;
No, though he thought his accufation true:
Let this be so, 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 levell’d falle,

The fuppofition 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 some reclufive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you :
And though, you know, my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I How in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.
Friar. 'Tis well consented, presently away;

For to strange sores, strangely they ftrain the cure.
Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day,
Perhaps, is but prolong’d: have patience and en-


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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 cousin is wrong'd.

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?
Beat. A very even way, but no such 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 so well as you ; is not that strange?

Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not; it were as possible for me to say, I lov'd nothing so well as you; but believe me not; and yet I lye not; I confess nothing, nor i deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lov'st me.
Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says, 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, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have stay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to protest, 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 protest.

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, sweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you ; nay, I pray you, let me go.


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Bene. Beatrice,
Beat. In faith, I will go.
Bene. We'll be friends first.

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slander’d, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman! 0 that I were a man! what bear her in hand until they come to stake hands, and then with public accusation, uncover'd flander, unmitigated rancour - O 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 ?. proper saying!

Bene. Nay, but Beatrice.

Beat. Sweet Hero ! she is wrong'd, she is slander'd, She is undone.

Bene. Beat

Beat. Princes and Counts ! surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his fake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! but manhood is melted into curtesies, 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 swears 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. Use it for my love some other way than swear, ing by it.

Bene. Think you in your soul, the Count Claudio hath wrong's Hero?

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him, I will kiss your hand, and to leave you ; by this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account; as you hear of me, so think of me; go comfort your


I must fay, she is dead, and so farewel.



SCENE changes to a Prison.

Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the

Town-Clerk and Sexton in Gowns. To. CI. T S our whole dissembly appear'd?

the fexton!


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 examin'd? let them come before master conttable. To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before


what is your name, friend

Bora. Borachio.
To. Cl. Pray write down, Borachio. Yours, Sirrah?

Conr. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Conrade.

To. Cl. Write down, master gentleman Conrade ; masters, do you serve God?

Both. Yea, Sir, we hope. (19)

To. Cl. Write down, that they hope they serve God; and write God first : for God defend, but God hould go before such villains.-Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly; how answer you for yourselves

Conr. Marry, Sir, we say, we are none.

Te. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, firrah, a word in your ear, Sir ; I say to you, it is thought you are both false knaves.

(19) Both. Yea, Sir, we bope.

To.cl. Write down, ibat ihey hope, they serve God : and write God first, for God defend, but God should go before fucb Villains--] This short passage, which is truly humorous and in character, I have added from the old Quarto. Belides, it supplies a defect : for, without it, the Town-Clrk asks a question of the prisoners, and goes on without staying for any answer to it,


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