A CT III.

SCENE I.

G

Continues in the Garden.

Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.

HERO.

OOD Margaret, run thee into the parlour, There fhalt thou find my coufin Beatrice, Propofing with the Prince and Claudio; Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Urfula Walk in the orchard, and our whole difcourfe Is all of her; fay that thou overheard'st us, And bid her steal into the pleached bower, Where honey-fuckles ripen'd by the fun Forbid the fun to enter; like to favourites Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it: there will the hide her, To listen to our purpofe; this is thy office,

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant, prefently. [Exit.
Hero. Now, Urfula, 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-fay: now begin.

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

Urf. The pleasant'ft angling is to fee the fish

Cut

Cut with her golden oars the filver ftream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait;
So angle we for Beatrice, who e'en now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture;
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lofe nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
No truly, Urfula, fhe's too difdainful,

I know her fpirits are as coy and wild,
As haggards of the rock.

Urf. But are you fure

That Benedick loves Beatrice fo intirely?

Hero. So fays the Prince, and my new-trothed Lord.
Urf. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?
Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I perfuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To with him wraftle with affection,

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urf. Why did you fo? doth not the gentleman Deferve as full, as fortunate a bed,

As ever Beatrice fhall 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.
Difdain and fcorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Mif-prizing what they look on, and her wit
Values it felf fo highly, that to her

All matter else seems weak; fhe cannot love,
Nor take no fhape nor project of affection,
She is fo felf-indeared.*

Urf: Sure I think fo;

And therefore certainly it were not good

She knew his love, left she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet faw man, How wife, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, But fhe would spell him backward; if fair-fac'd, She'd fwear the gentleman fhould be her fifter;

If

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;

4

If fpeaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If filent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns fhe every man the wrong fide out,
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which fimpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urf. Sure, fure fuch carping is not commendable.
Hero. No, for to be fo odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.

But who dare tell her fo? if I fhould speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, fhe would laugh me
Out of my felf, prefs me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like covered fire,
Confume away in fighs, wafte inwardly;
It were a bitter death to die with mocks,
Which is as bad as 'tis to die with tickling.
Urf. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will fay.
Hero. No, rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his paffion.
And truly I'll devise fome honeft flanders
To ftain my coufin with; one doth not know
How much an ill word may impoifon liking.

Urf. O, do not do your coufin fuch a wrong.
She cannot be fo much without true judgment,
(Having fo fweet and excellent a wit,

As fhe is priz'd to have) as to refufe
So rare a gentleman as Benedick..
Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

Urf. I pray you, be not angry .with
me, Madam,
Speaking my fancy; Signior Benedick,
For fhape, for bearing, argument and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
Urf. His excellence did can it ere he had it.

4 agat.. old edit. Varb, emend.

When

When are you marry'd, Madam?

Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow; come, go in, I'll fhew thee fome attires, and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

[Madam.
Urf. She's ta'en, I warrant you; we have caught her,
Hero. If it prove fo, then loving goes by haps;
Some Cupids kill with arrows, fome with traps. [Exeunt.
Beatrice advances.

Beat. What fire is in my ears? can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and fcorn fo much?
Contempt farewel, and maiden pride adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou doft love, my kindness fhall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band.

For others fay thou doft deferve, and I
Believe it better than reportingly.

S CEN E II.

Leonato's House.

[Exit.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. Pedro. Do but stay 'till your marriage be confummate, and then I go toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my Lord, if you'll vouchfafe me.

Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a foil in the new glofs of your marriage, as to fhew a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company, for from the crown of his head to the fole of his foot he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-ftring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as found as a bell, VOL. I.

I i

and

and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.

Leon. So fay I; methinks you are fadder.
Claud. I hope he is in love.

Pedro. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love; if he be fad, he wants mony.

Bene. I have the tooth-ach.

Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it.

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. Pedro. What? figh for the tooth-ach!

Leon. Which is but a humour, or a worm.

Bene. Well, every one can, mafter a grief but he that has it.

Claud. Yet fay I he is in love.

Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange difguifes, as to be a Dutch man to-day, a French man to-morrow; unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it to appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with fome woman, there is no believing old figns; he brushes his hat a-mornings: what should that bode?

Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's?

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuft tennis-balls.

Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did by the loss of a beard.

Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet; can you fmell him out by that?

Claud. That's as much as to fay, the sweet youth's in love.

Pedro. The greateft note of it is his melancholy. Claud. And when was he wont to wafh his face? Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which I hear what they fay of him.

Claud.