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Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient;
Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is bely’d.
Beat. No, truly, not ; although until last night
Leon. Confirm’d, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made,
Friar. Hear me a little,
Leon. Friar, it cannot be.
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
Friar. There is fome strange misprifion in the princes,
Benz. Two of them have the very bent of honour,
Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
bad life reft me so much of friends,
Friar. Pause a while,
Leon. What shall become of this: what will this do:
Change slander to remorse; that is some good;
Into his study of imagination, • And every lovely organ of her life - Shall coine apparell'd in more precious habit; * More moving, delicate, and full of life, • Into the eye and prospect of his foul, • Than when she liv'd indeed.' Then shall he mouri, If ever love had interest in his liver, And with he had not so accused her; No, though he thought his accusation truc. 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 fupposition of the lady's death Will quench the wonder of her infamy, And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her, As best befits her wounded reputation, In some reclufive 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 fecretly and juftly as your soul Should with your body.
Leon. Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may
Friar. 'Tis well consented, presently away;
For to strange fores, itrangely they strain the cure Come, Lady, die to live; this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong'd: have patience, and endure.
[Exeunt. SCENE III. Manent Benedick and Beatrice. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not defire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd..
Bene. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!
Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship?
Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you ; is not that strange? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not.
It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lov'it me.
Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you. Beat. Will
you not eat your word? Bene. With no sauce that can be devis’d to it; I. protest I love thee.
Beat. Why then, God forgive me.
Beat. You have stay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to proteit I lov'd you.
Bene. And do it with all thy heart.
Bect. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to proteft.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat. You kill me to deny; farewell.
Beat. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go.
Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fighe with mine enemy?
Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath Nander'd, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman! O that I were a man! What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public accusation, uncover'd slander, unmitigated rancour O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.
Bene. Nay, but Beatrice.
Beat. Sweet Hero! he is wrong'd, she is slander'd, The is undone.
Beat. Princes and Counts! furely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, furely! O that I were a man for his fake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! But manhood is melted into courtefies, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too. He is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.
Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand I love thee. Beat. Use it for
my love some other way than swearing by it.
Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio bath wrong'd Hero?
Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a foul.
Bene. Enough; I am engag'd; I will challenge him, I will kiss your hand, and to leave you; by this hard,