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

safe me.

you are fadder.

Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new glofs of your marriage, as to sew a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company: fòr, 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-string, and the little hang. man dare not shoot at him: he hath a heart as found as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue fpeaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So say I; methinks
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 sad, he wants money.

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 master a grief but he that has it.

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love

Pedro. “ There is no appearance of fancy in him, “ unless it be a fancy that he hath to frange disguises; “ as to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-mor

row; or in the shape of two countries at once; “ German from the waste downward, all Nops; and a

Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet.” Una less 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 some woman, there is no believing old figns: 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 hath already stuff'd tennis-balls.



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

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

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

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

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now crept into a lute-ftring, and now govern'd by step

Pedro. Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Con clude he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

Pedro. That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not.

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all, dies for him.

Pedro. She shall be bury'd with her face upwards.

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. Old Signior, walk aside with me; I have ftudy'd eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobɔy-horses must not hear.

[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

Claud. 'Tis even fo. Hero and Margaret have by this play'd their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet.

SCENE III. Enter Don John.

Fohn. My Lord and brother, God save you.
Pedro. Good den, brother.
John. If your leisure ferv’d, I would speak with you.
Pedro. In private?
John. If it please you; yet Count Claudio


hear; for what I would speak of, concerns himn.

Pedro. What's the matter?

Fohri. Means your Lordship to be marry'd to morrow?

[To Claudio. Pedro. You know he does.


John. I know not that, when he knows what I know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you dis

cover it.

John. You may think I love you not; let that appear hereafter and aim better at me by that I now will manifeft; for my brother, I think, he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your 'ensuing 1 marriage; furely, fuit ill spent, and labour ill beItow'd!

Pedra. Why, what's the matter?

John. I came hither to tell you, and circumstances fhorten'd, (for the hath been too long a-talking of, the lady is disloyal.

Claud. Who? Hero?

John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero.

Claud. Diloyal?

John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness. I could say the were worse; think you

of a worfe title, and I will fit her to it; wonder not till further warrant; go but with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-window enter'd, even the night before her wedding-day. If you love her, then to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change

your mind,

Claud. May this be fo?
Pedro. I will not think it.

John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not
krow; if you

will follow me, I will thew you enough; and when you have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly.

Cland. If I fee any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow; in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her.

Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her.

John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses; bear it coldly but till night, and let the issue thew itself.

Pedro. O day untowardly turn'd!
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting!


John. O plague right well prevented! So you will say, when you have seen the sequel.



SCENE IV. Changes to the street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the watch.
Dngb. Are you good men and true?

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince's watch.

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.

Dogb. First, who think you the moft desartless man to be constable?

I Watch. Hugh Oatcake, Sir, or George Seacole; for they can write and read.

Dogó. Come hither, neighbour Seacole: God hath bless'd

you with a good name; and to be a well-favour'd

is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature.

2 Watch. Both which, Master ConstableDogb. You have: I knew, it would be


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 more need of such vanity; you are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch, therefore bear you the lanthorn: this is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's name.

2 Watch. How if he will not stand!

Dogb. Why, then take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a knave.

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the Prince's fubjects.

Dagb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince's subjects. You shall also make no noise in



tue of

the streets; for, for the watch to babble and talk, is moft tolerable, and not to be endur'd.

2 Watch. “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 seeping should « offend; only have a care that your bills be not stolen. « Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid them « that are drunk get them to bed.”

2 Watch. 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.

2 Watch. Well, Sir. Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may fuspect him by vir

your office to be no true man; and for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for

your honesty. 2 Watch. 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 defild: the moft peaceable way for you,


you do take a thief, is, to let him Thew himself what he is, and steal out of pany:

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 Watch. 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, conftable, are to present the Prince's own person; if you meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him. Vol. II.


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