Let every eye negotiate for itself, Bene. Count Claudio T Claud. Yea, the same. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Claud. Whither? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion will you wear the g;ir land of? About your neck, like a usurers chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. Claud. I wish him joy or" her. Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover: so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would nave served you thus? Claud. 1 pray you leave me. Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man: 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post. Claud. It it will not be, 1 11 leave you. [Exit. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl 1 Now will he creep into sedges.—But, that my lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The prince's fool!—Hal it may be I go under that title, because I am merry.—Yea, but so; I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base, though bitter disposition ot Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Weil, I'll be revenged its I may. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? Did you see him? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part ol lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren \t\ told htm, mid I think I told him tnie, that your grace had got the good-will of this young lady; ilnd I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, being overjoy'd with rinding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Bene, If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The kidy Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that danced with her, told her she is much wronged by you. Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block! an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answered her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking 1 had been myself, that I was the prince's jester ; that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infec' to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Ate in £ood apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the s'ig'ntost errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the farthest inch of Asia bring you the length of I'rester John's .'oot; fetch you a hair on* the great Cham's beard ; do you any embassage to ihe Pigmies,—rather than hold Lhree words" conterence with this harpy. You have .10 employment for me? D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Bene. 0 God, sir, here's a dish 1 love not: 1 cannot endure my lady Tongue. j Exit, D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of signior Benedick. Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and I gave him use for it,—a double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lout it. D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest ( should prove the mother of fools.—1 have brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! wherefore are you Claud. Not sad, my lord. [sad? D. Pedro. How then? Sick? Claud. Neither, my lord. Heal. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil, count; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. V faith, lady, I tliink your blazon to be ;rue ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is l alse. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won: I have broke with her father, and, his good-will obtained : name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it! Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I couldsay how much. Lady. .:s you are mine, 1 am yours: 1 give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not huu speak neither. D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord; 1 thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care.— My cousin tells him m his ear, that he is in her heart. Claud. Ami so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good lord, for alliance I Thus goes every one to the world but I, and 1 am sun-burned: 1 may sit in a corner, and cry heigh-ho for a husband! D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? Beat. No, my lord, unless 1 might have another for working-days: your grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your grace, pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry l»est becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord, iny mother cried ; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.— Cousins, God give you joy 1 lyou of? Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.—By your grace's pardon. [Exit. D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps; ami not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness. and waked herself with laughing. [band. D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus-Leon. O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad! D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? [till love have all his rites. Claud. To-morrow, my lord : time goes on crutches Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have | all things answer my miad. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing: but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to briny signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. 1 would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as 1 shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, 1 am lor you, though it cost me ten Claud. And 1, my lord. [nights' watchings. D. Pedro. And you, too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humouryourcousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick;—and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and 1 will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. SCENE II.—Another Room in Leonato's House, D. John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinabie to me: 1 am sick in displeasure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage? Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me. D. John. Show me briefly how. Bora. I think 1 told your lordship, a year since, how much 1 am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-window. D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage f Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. D. John. What proof shall I make of thatf Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue 1 I any thing. D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour Bora. Go, then; find ine a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone : tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as,—in love of your brother s honour, who hath made this match ; and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you have discov vered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: orier them instances; which shall bear no less likelihood than to sec me at her chamber-window; hear Die call Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret term me. Claudio; and bring them to see this the very night before the intended wedding, lor in the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. | Exeunt. SCENE III.—Leonato's Garden. Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring ft hither to me in the orchard. Boy. 1 am here already, sir. Bene. I know that: but I would have thee hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] 1 do much vonder, that one man, seeing how much another man is a foci when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after lie hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is Claudio. 1 have known, when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe; I have known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doubtlet. He was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man.and a soldier; and now is he turned orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet,—just bo many strange dishes. May 1 be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell: I think not: I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fooL One woman is fair; yet I am well; another is wise; yet I am well; another virtuous; yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not 1 for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair snail be of what colour it please God. Ha 1 the prince and monsieur Love I I will hide me in the arbour. [Withdraws. Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio, followed by Balthazar and Musicians. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music T Claud. Yea, my good lord.—How still the evening is. As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony I D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself t Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended. We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. /). /Wre. Coine.Balthuzar.we'll hear that song again. Balth. O, good iny lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander music any more than once. D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come; Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument. Balth. Note this before my notes. There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks; Note, notes, forsooth, and noting I [Music Bene. Now, divine air 1 now is his soul ravished !— Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should hale souls out of men's bodiest— Well, a horn for my money, when all's done. Balthazar sings. Men were deceivers ever; Into, Hey nouuy, uonny. Bene. [Aside.] An'he had been a dr.g that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him , and I pray God, his bad voice Ixxle no mischief! 1 hadas lief have heard the night-raven, come what plagu* could have come utter it. D. Pedro. [To Claudio.] Yea, marry.—Dost thou hear, .Balthazar T I pray thee, get us some excellent j music; for to-inorro-w night we would have it at the' lady Hero's chamber-window. Baltk. The best 1 can, my lord. * D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. {Exeunt Balthazar and Musicians.) Come hither, Leonato: ■ it you told me of to-day,—that your niece was in love with signior Benedick? Claud. O, ays—{Aside to Pedro.] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aloud.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Bene. [Aside.] is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner T Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it: but that she loves him with an enraged affection,—it is past the infinite of thought. D.Pedro. Maybe she doth but counterfeit. Claud. 'Faith, like enough. Leon. O God! counterfeit 1 There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it Z>- Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she Claud. [Aside.] Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you,— f To Claudio.] You heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did, indeed. t>. Pedro. How now, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. I^on. I would have sworn it had, my lord; espe cially against Benedick. Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. [it up. Claud. [Aside.} He hath ta'en the infection: hold D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? [torment. Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says ** Shall I," says she, " that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him T" Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to] ■write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night; and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a: sheet of paper:—my daughter tells us all. Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Leon. O,—when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the Claud. That [sheet. Leon. O. she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her: '* I measure him,TM says she, "by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, though I love him. I should." Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses;— "O sweet Benedick I God give me patience I" L^on. She doth indeed: my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she win do a desperate outrage to herself: it is very true. D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it. Claud. To what end? he would but make a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. D. Pedro. An' he should, it were an alms to hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion she is virtuous. Claud. And she is exceeding wise. D. Pedro. In everything, but in loving Benedick. Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blooa combating in so 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, D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would have daffed all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what 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 •he make her love known; and she will die, if he woo, her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustomed crossness. D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tendet of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man. D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness. Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that ire like wit Leon. And I take him to be valiant D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most 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. D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him other love? Claud. Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible: she may wear her leart out first. D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well: and I could wish he would modestly 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. [Aside.] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. />. Pedro. [Aside.] Let there be the same net iprcad for her; ana that must your daughter and ter gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when hey liold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no uch matter: that's the scene that I would see, which vill be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call iim in to dinner. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Bene. \Aduane. from, the arbour\ This can be no trick: the conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems, her affections have the full bent Love me I why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her: they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection.—I did never think to marry .—1 must not seem proud.— Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair, 'tis .1 truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous,—'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: 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 have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite rilter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor. I did not think I should live till 1 were married.—Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in 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. Yon take pleasure, then, in the message? Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon ■ knife's point, and choke a daw withaL—You have no stomach, signior! fare you well. [Exit. Bene. Ha! "Againstmywill 1am sent to bid you, come in to dinner"—there's a double meaning in that / 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 are as easy as —If 1 do not take pity of her, 1 am a villain: if I do not love her, I am a Jew; I will go get her picture. ACT III. SCENE I.—Leonato's Garden. Enter Beatrice, behind. Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish [ They advance to the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; I know her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock. Urs. But are you sure That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman Hero. O God of love 1 I know he doth deserve Urs. Sure, I think so; And therefore certainly it were not good Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man, Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. Hero. No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak. She would mock me into air: O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. ""herefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, e awmy in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling. Urs. O. do not do your cousin such a wrong. Hero. He is the only man of Italy, Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere Tie had it. When are you married, madam! Hero. Why, every day ;—to-morrow. Come, go In: I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel. Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero ana Ursula. Beat. [Advancing:] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much t Contempt, farewell 1 and maiden pride, adieu 1 No glory lives behind the back of such. Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand. To bind our loves up in a holy band; SCENE II.—Room in Leonato's Hon sc. Enter Don Pedro, Claudto, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go 1 toward Arragon. Claud. Ill bring you thither, my lord, if youTI vouchsafe me. D. Pedro. Nay. that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, asto show a child hi* new coat and forbid him to wear it. 1 will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he ath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, and the ttle hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart s sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper , for diat his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as 1 have been. Leon. So say I: methinks ynu are sadder. Claud. I hope he be in love. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant! tltere's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love. If hie be sad, he wants money. Bene. I have the tooth-ache. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it 1 [wards. Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after D. Pedro. What I sigh Tor the toothache? Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm! Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he Claud. Yet say 1, lie is in love. [that has it. D. Pfdro. There is no appearance of fancy in him. unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; a;, to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once; as, a German from the waist downward, all slops, ami a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there Is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o* 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, hafla already stuffed tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet; can yoi smell him out by that? [in love. Claud. That's as much as to say the sweet youth's D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy, Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I Hear what they say of him. Claud- Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is nowcrept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him Conclude, conclude, he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedro. That would I know too: I that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite o( all, dies for him. D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache.—Old signior, walk aside with ine: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobbyhorses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claud. *Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. Enter Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. Pedro. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with D. Pedro. In private f [you. D. John. If it please you: yet Count Claudio may hear; for what I would speak of concerns '' D. Pedro. What's the matter T D. John. [ To Claudio.] Means your lordship to be married to-morrow? £>. Pedro. You know he does. {know. D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it. D. John. You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you well; and in dearness of heart liath holp to effect your ensuing marriage,—surely, suit ill-spent, and labour ill D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter! [bestowed. D. Joh?i. I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long a talk* big of.) the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who, Hero! D. John. Even she: Leonato's Hero, your Hero, Claud. Disloyal! (every man's Hero. D. John. The word's too good to paint out her wickedness: I could say. she were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant: go but with ine to-night, you shall see her chamber-window entered, even the nignt before her wedding-day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change your Claud. Maythisbeso? [mind. D. Pedro. I will not think it. D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If you will follow me, I will show you enough ; and when you have seen more, and heard more, proceed accordingly, Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. And. as I wooed f>r thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned I Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting 1 D. John. O plague right well prevented I So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—^tf Stmt. Enter Dogberry and Verges, -with the Watch. Dogb. Are you good men and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. to-night. Adieu, be vigitant, I beseech you. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for| [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges, "hem, if they should have any allegiance In them, being :liosen for the prince's watch. [berry. Verg. Well, givcthem their charge, neighbour DogDogb. First, who think you the most desartless man o be constable? 1 IVatch, Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; or they can write and read. Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath hlessed you with a good name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune ; but to writeand read comes by nature. 2 IVatch. Both which, master constable,— Dogb. You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it: and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseess and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your charge :—you ilall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. JVatch. How, if a" will not stand f Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, —t thank God you are rid of a knave. 'erg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects.—You shall also make 110 noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured. 2 IVatch. We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only have a care that your bills be not stolen. —Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. JVatch. How if they will not? Dogb. Why, then, let them alone till they are sober: if they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them for. JVatch. Well, sir. Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, forsuctt kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 JVatch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company, Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 JVatch. How, if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us? Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. *Tis very true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge.—You constable, are to present the prince's own person: if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that, 1 think, a' cannot. Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing; nor, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verg. By 'r lady, I think it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows' counsels and your own; and good night.—Come, neighbour. a JVatch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let oa go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all go to bed. Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours. I pray* you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil |