at her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a | thousand times good-night,-I tell this tale vilely:-I should first tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by my master, Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter.

Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero? Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and send her home again without a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand.

2 Watch. Call up the right Master Constable : We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him; he wears a lock.

Con. Masters, masters!

Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 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-thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in love: nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of 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.

Re-enter URSULA.

Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, Signior 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, [Exeunt.

Con. Masters,

1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men's bills.

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in LEONATO's House.

Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA. Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise.

Urs. I will, lady.

Hero. And bid her come hither.

Urs. Well.

[Exit URS. Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato* were better.

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and, I warrant, your cousin will say so.

Hero. My cousin'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. I saw the duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy!

Enter BEATRICE.

Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill:-hey ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? Beat. By my troth, I am sick.

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus

A kind of ruff.

+i.e. It is wonderful to see.

SCENE V.-Another Room in LEONATO's House. Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES. Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour?

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me.

Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir.

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.

Leon. What is it, my good friends?

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as, I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.

Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. [neighbour Verges. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, 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! ha!

Dogb. Yea, and 'twere 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 so am I.

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina.

Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out; it is a world to see!+-Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges-well, an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind :-An honest soul, i' faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread: but, all men are not alike; alas, good neighbour!

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you; but I must leave you.

Dogb. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have, indeed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship.

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

Dogb. It shall be suffigance.

[well.

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you Enter a Messenger.

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

Leon. I'll wait upon them; I am ready. [Exeunt LEON. and Mess. Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol; we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that [touching his forehead] shall drive some of them to a non com: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol.

Act Fourth.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-The Inside of a Church. Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, Friar, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, and BEATRICE, &c. Leon. COME, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards. [this lady? Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry Claud. No. [to marry her. Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count?

Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it.

Claud. Know you any, Hero?
Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, count?

Leon. I dare make his answer; none. Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do! Bene. How now! Interjections? Why, then some be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he! [leave; Claud. Stand thee by, friar :-Father, by your Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter?

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth

May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.
Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank-
There, Leonato, take her back again; [fulness.—
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour :-
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here:
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,

To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.
Not to be married,
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,-

Claud. I know what you would say; if I have known her,

You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband,

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
Claud. Out on thy seeming! I will write
You seem to me as Dian in her orb; [against it:
As chaste as in the bud ere it be blown;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
[wide? +
Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you?
D. Pedro.
What should I speak?

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but
dream?
[are true.
D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
True? O God!

Hero.

Claud. Leonato, stand I here?

Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?

Leon. All this is so; But what of this, my lord? Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter;

And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero. O God, defend me! how am I beset!-
What kind of catechising call you this?

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach?

Claud.

Marry, that can Hero: Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. [lord. Hero. I vaik'd with no man at that hour, my D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.

Leonato,

I am sorry you must hear; Upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal + villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

D. John.
Fie, fie! they are
Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoken of;
There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence, to utter them: Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [HERO Swoons. Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down? [thus to light,

D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt D. PEDRO, D. JOHN, and CLAUD. Bene. How doth the lady?

Beat.

Dead, I think;-help, uncleHero! why, Hero!-Uncle !-Signior Benedick! -friar !

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beat.

How now,
cousin Hero?
Friar. Have comfort, lady.
Leon.
Dost thou look up?
Friar. Yea; Wherefore should she not?
Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly
thing

Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?—
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think thou would'st not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy
shames,

Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I, for that, at frugal nature's frame? *
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched+ thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, "No part of it is mine;

This shame derives itself from unknown loins?"
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she,-O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again.
Bene.
Sir, sir, be patient :
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.
Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat. No, truly not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger
made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence! from her; let her
Friar. Hear me a little;
[die.

For I have only silent been so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady: I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face: a thousand innocent shames,
In angel whiteness, bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth :-Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon.

Friar, it cannot be :

Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy!-O my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight [ture,
Maintain'd the change of words with any crea-
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.
Friar. There is some strange misprision+ in the
princes.
[honour;
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.
Leon. I know not; If they speak but truth of
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her

honour,

[her,

The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them thoroughly.
Friar.
Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,

And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;

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 carried, shall on her behalf

Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that, dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours.-So will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,

Than when she liv'd indeed;-then shall he mourn,

And wish he had not so accus'd her;
No, though he thought his accusation 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 false,
The supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
(As best befits her wounded reputation,)
In some reclusive 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.

2 Watch. This is all.

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly died.-Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go before, and show him their examination. [Exit.

Dogb. Come, let them be opinion'd.
Verg. Let them be in band.

Con. Off, coxcomb!

Dogb. Where's the sexton? let him write down -the prince's officer, coxcomb.-Come, bind them:-Thou naughty varlet!

Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years ?-O that he were here to write me down-an ass!-but, masters, remember, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass :No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him :-Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down-an ass! [Exeunt.

Act Fifth.

SCENE I.-Before LEONATO's House.
Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO.

Ant. Ir you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself.

Leon.
I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;

Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should

groan;

Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk

With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore, give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. [differ.
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing

Leon. I pray thee, peace! I will be flesh and For there was never yet philosopher, [blood; That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance. Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those that do offend you suffer too. [do so: Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied; And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince, And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO.

Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio,
D. Pedro. Good den, good den.
Claud.

[hastily.

Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you, my lords,D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord!-well, fare you well, my lord :

Are you so hasty now ?-well, all is one. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low. Claud. Who wrongs him? Leon. Marry, Thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou :Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; I fear thee not. Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. Leon. Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at

me:

[do,

I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.

I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child:
Thy slander hath gone through and through her
heart,

And she lies buried with her ancestors,
O! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of her's, framed by thy villainy.
Claud. My villainy?

Leon.
Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.
Leon.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.

Claud. Away! I will not have to do with you. Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child;

If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: But that's no matter; let him kill one first;Win me and wear me,-let him answer me,Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me : Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining+ fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother,

[niece;

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!Leon. Brother Antony,

Ant. Hold you content; What, man! I know

them, yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: