fe's an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all suspicion). Thę is virtuous.

Claud. And the is exceeding wise.
Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in fo tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory; I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

Pedro. I would, she had bestow'd this dotage on me; I would have dafft all other respects, and made her half myself; I pray you, tell Benedick of it; and hear whac he will say

Leon. Were it good, think you ?

Claud. Hero thinks, surely she will die ; for she says, she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere the Iake her love known; and the will die if he woo her, rather than the will bate one breath of her accuftom'd croffr.efs.

Pedro. She doth well; if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very poflible, he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible {pirit.

i laud. He is a very proper man. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. Claud. 'Fore God, and, in my

mind, very

wile. Pedro. He doth, indeed, thew fome sparks that are like wit.

Leon, And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I affure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wile ; for either he avoius them with great discretion, or uncertakes them with a christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

Pedro. And so will he do, for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large jefts, be will make. Well, I am sorry for your Niece ; fhall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leon.

Leon. Nay, that's impossible, she may wear her heart out first.

Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could with he would mcdeftly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy to have so good a lady.

Leon. My Lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never troft my expectation.

[Aide. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry ; the sport will be, when they hold an opinion of one another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the Scene that I would tee, wh ch will be merely a Dumb Show; let us fend her to call him to dinner. | Afde.] [Exeunt.

Benedick advances from the Arbour. Bere. This can be no trick, the conference was fadly borne ; they have the truth of this from Hero; they feem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have the fulli bent.' Love me! why, it must be requited: I hear, how I am censur'd; they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that the will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry I must not seem proud

happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending : they say the lady is fair ; 'ris a truth, I can bear them witness: and virtuous ;, 'tis so, I cannot reprove it: and wife, but for loving

by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly; for I will be horribly in love with her. -I may chance to have some odd. quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage ; but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quipps and sentences, and these paper-bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humuur? no;, the world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. Here

me

comes Beatrice : by this day, she's a fair lady; I do spy fume marks of love in her.

Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come ik to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful, I would not have come.

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message.

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choak a daw withal : you have no komach, Signior; fare you well.

[Exit. Bene. Ha! against my will I am sent to bid you come in 20 dinner : there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me ;

that's as much as to say, any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ;, if I do not love her, I am a Jew; I will go get her picture.

[Exit.

ACT

III.

SCENE continues in the Orchard.

Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.

HER 0.
DOD Margaret, run thee into the parlourg,

G

Proposing with the Prince and Claudio ;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse:
Is all of her ; fay, that thou overheard'ft us ;.
And bid her steal into the pleached Bower,,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the Sung.

Forbid the Sun to enter : like to Favourites,
Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: there will se hide her,
To listen our Propose; this is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant, presently. (Exit.

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our Talk must only be of Benedick;
When I do name him, let it be thy Part
To praise him more than ever man did merit.
My Talk to thee must be how Benedick
Is fick in love with Beatrice; of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hear-say: now begin.

Enter Beatrice, running towards the Arbour.
For look, where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference.

Ursu. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the filver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait;
So angle we for Beatrice, who e’en now
1s couched in the woodbine-coverture :/
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.-
No, truly, Ursula, she's too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild,
As haggerds of the rock.

Ursula. But are you fure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so intirely?

Hero. So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.
Ursu. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?

Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To with him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know it.

Ursu. Why did you so ? doth not the Gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,

A: As ever Beatrice shall couch

upon

?
Hero. O God of love! I know, he doth deferve
As much as may be yielded to a man;
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.
Disdain and Scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Mif-prizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter elle seems weak; the cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is fo fell indeared.

Ursu. Sure, I think so;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, leit she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would fpel him backward; if fair-fac'd, (12)
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her fifter;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a launce ill-headed ;
If low, an Aglet very vilely cut; (13)

If