To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,

And when I fend for you, come hither mask’d:
The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To vifit me; you know your office, brother,
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio.

[Exeunt ladies. Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Friar, I muft intreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, Signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. Signior Leonato, truth it is, good Signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

you

your will?

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true.
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon The fight whereof, I think,
had from me,
From Claudio, and the Prince. But what's
Bene. Your anfwer, Sir, is enigmatical;
But for my will, my will is, your good-will
May ftand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
' th' ftate of honourable marriage;

In which, good Friar, I fhall defire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar. And my help.

SCENE X.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with attendants. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair affembly.

Leon. Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio, We here attend you; are you yet determin'd

To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were fhe an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the Friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.

Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick; why, what's the

That you have fuch a February face,

So full of freft, of storm and cloudinefs?

Claud. I think he thinks upon the favage

[matter,

bull:

Tufh, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And fo all Europe fhall rejoice at thee;

As

As once Europa did at lufty Jove,

When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, Sir, had an amiable low,

And some fuch strange bull leap'd your father's cow;
And got a calf, in that fame noble feat,
Much like to you; for you have just his bleat.

SCENE XI.

Enter Antonio, with Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, and
Urfula, mafk'd.

Claud. For this I owe you. Here come other reckonWhich is the lady I must feize upon?

Ant. This fame is fhe, and I do give you her.

[ings.

Claud. Why, then fhe's mine; fweet, let me fee your

face.

Leon. No, that you fhall not till you take her hand Before this Friar, and fwear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand. Before this holy Friar, I am your husband if like of me.

you

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife;

[Unmasking.

And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.

Claud. Another Hero?

Hero. Nothing certainer.

One Hero dy'd defil'd, but I do live;

And, furely, as I live, I am a maid.

Pedro. The former Hero! Hero, that is dead!

Leon. She dy'd, my Lord, but whiles her flander liv'd.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;

When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell thee largely of fair Hero's death:
Mean time let wonder feem familiar,

And to the chapel let us prefently.

Bene. Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice?
Beat. I anfwer to that name; what is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. Why, no, no more than reafon.

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the Prince, and Claudio, have been deceiv'd; they fwore you did.

Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene.

Bene. Troth, no, no more than reafon.

Beat. Why, then, my coufin, Margaret, and Unfula, Have been deceiv'd; for they did fwear you did. Bene. They fwore you were almoft fick for me. Beat. They fwore you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no matter; then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompence. Leon. Come, coufin, I am fure you love the gentle

man.

Claud. And I'll be fworn upon't that he loves her;
For here's a paper written in his hand,

A halting fonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another,

Writ in my coufin's hand, ftolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts; come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great perfuafion, and partly to fave your life; for, as I was told, you were in a confumption.

Bene. Peace, I will ftop your mouth.

[Kifing her. Pedro. How do'ft thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Doft thou think I care for a fatyr, or an epigram? No: "if a man "will be beaten with brains, he fhall wear nothing hand"fome about him " In brief, fince I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can fay against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have faid against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclufion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinfman, live unbruis'd, and fove my coufin.

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldft have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgell'd thee out of thy fingle life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my coufin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends; let's have a

dance

7

dance ere we are marry'd, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. Firft, o' my word; therefore, play, mufic. Prince, thou art fad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife; there is no ftaff more reverend than one tipt with horn.

Enter Meffenger.

Me. My Lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Meffina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devife thee brave punishments for him., Strike up, pipers.

[Dance. [Exeunt omnes.

THE

SCENE, partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia upon the continent.

Anth.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A ftreet in Venice.

Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.

IN

N footh, I know not why I am so fad.
It wearies me; you fay, it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What ftuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
1 am to learn-

And fuch a want wit fadnefs makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sal Your mind is toffing on the ocean;
There, where your Argosies with portly fail,
Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That