yond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better better'd expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Mefina will be very much glad of it.

Me. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even fo much, that joy could not fhew it felf modest enough, without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Me. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness; there are no faces truer than those that are fo wafh'd; how much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping?

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Montanto return'd from the wars or no.

Meff. I know none of that name, Lady; there was none fuch in the army of any Sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, Neice?

Here. My Coufin means Signior Benedick of Padua. Meff. O, he's return'd, and as pleasant as ever he

was.

Beat. He fet up his bills here in Mefina, and chal leng'd Cupid at the flight and my Uncle's fool, reading the challenge, fubfcrib'd for Cupid, and challeng'd him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he kill'd and eaten in these wars? but how many hath he kill'd? for, indeed, I promis'd to eat all of his killing.

Leon. 'Faith, Neice, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Me. He hath done good fervice, Lady, in these

wars.

Beat. You had mufty victuals, and he hath holp to eat it; he's a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent ftomach.

Meff And a good foldier too, Lady.

Beat. And a good foldier to a lady? but what is he to a lord?

Me

Meff. A lord to a lord, a man to a man, stufft with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is fo, indeed: (2) he is no less than a stuft man: but for the ftuffing, well, we are all mortal. Leon. You must not, Sir, mistake my Neice; there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet, but there's a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by That. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man govern'd with one: So that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horfe; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reafonable creature. Who is his companion now? he hath every month a new fworn brother.

Meff. Is it poffible?

Beat. Very easily poffible; he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block.

Me. I fee, Lady, the gentleman is not in your

books.

Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my Study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? is there no young fquarer now, that will make a voyage with him. to the devil?

Me. He is moft in the company of the right noble Claudio.

Beat. O lord, he will hang upon him like a disease; he is fooner caught than the peftilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio, if he have caught the Benedick; it will coft him a thousand pound ere he be cur'd.

(2) he is no less than a flufft man; but for the Stuffing well, we are all mortal] Thus has this Paffage been all along fep'd, from the very first Edition downwards. If any of the Editors could extract Senfe from this Pointing, their Sagacity is a Pitch above mine. I believe, by my Regulation of the Stops, I have retriev'd the Poet's true Meaning. Our Poet feems to use the Word Stuffing here much as Plautus does in his Moftellaria; A&t. 1. Sc. 3.

Non Veftem amatores mulieris amant, fed Veftis fartum.

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Mell.

Meff. I will hold friends with you, Lady.
Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You'll ne'er run mad, Neice.
Beat. No, not 'till a hot January.

Mel. Don Pedro is approch'd.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar and Don John.

Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid coff, and you encounter it.

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like. nefs of your Grace; for trouble being gone, comfort fhould remain; but when you depart from me, forrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.

Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly: I think, this is your daughter.

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me fo. Bene. Were you in doubt, Sir, that you askt her? Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.

Pedro. You have it full, Benedick; We may guefs by this what you are, being a man: truly, the lady fa thers her felf, be happy, lady, for you are like an honourable father.

Bene. If Signior Leonato be her Father, fhe would not have his head on her fhoulders for all Mefina, as like him as she is.

Beat. I wonder, that you will ftill be talking, Signior Benedict; no body marks you.

Bene. What, my dear lady Difdain! are you yet living?

Beat. Is it poffible, Difdain fhould die, while fhe hath fuch meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick? Courtefie it self must convert to Difdain, if you come in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtefie a turn-coat; but it is certain, I am lov'd of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.

Beat.

Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would elfe have been troubled with a pernicious fuitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man fwear he loves me.

Bene. God keep your ladyship ftill in that mind! fo fome gentleman or other fhall fcape a predeftinate fcratcht face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere fuch a face as yours were.

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

Bene. I would, my horfe had the fpeed of your tongue, and fo good a continuer; but keep your way a God's name, I have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick; I know you of old.

Sig

Pedro. This is the fum of all: Leonato, nior Claudio, and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all; I tell him, we fhall stay here at the leaft a month; and he heartily prays, fome occafion may detain us longer: I dare fwear he is no hypocrite; but prays from his

heart.

Leon. If you fwear, my lord, you shall not be forfworn. Let me bid You welcome, my lord, being reconciled to the prince your brother; I owe you all duty.

John. I thank you; I am not of many words, but I thank you.

Leon. Please it your Grace lead on?

Pedro. Your hand, Leonato we will go together.

[Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Sig

nior Leonato?

Bene. I noted her not, but I look'd on her.
Claud. Is fhe not a modeft young lady?

Bene. Do you queftion me, as an honeft man should do, for my fimple true judgment? or would you have

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mc

me speak after my cuftom, as being a profeffed tyrant to their fex?

Claud. No, I pry'thee, speak in fober judgment.

Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks, the is too low for an high praife, too brown for a fair praife, and too little for a great praife; only this commendation I can af ford her, that were the other than fhe is, fhe were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her.

Claud. Thou think'ft, I am in fport; I pray thee, tell me truly how thou lik'st her.

Bene. Would you buy her, that you enquire after her?

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?

Bene. Yea, and a cafe to put it into; but fpeak you this with a fad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? come, in what key fhall a man take you to go in the Song?

Claud. In mine eye, fhe is the sweetest lady that I ever look'd on.

Bene. I can fee yet without fpectacles, and I fee no fuch matter; there's her Coufin, if he were not poffeft with such a Fury, exceeds her as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the laft of December: but I hope, you have no intent to turn husband, have you?

Claud. I would fcarce truft my self, tho' I had fworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

Bene. Is't come to this, in faith? hath not the world one man, but he will wear his cap with fufpicion? fhall I never see a batchelor of threescore again? go to, i'faith, if thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and figh away Sundays: look, Don Pedro is return'd to feek you.

Re-enter Don Pedro and Don John.

Pedro. What Secret hath held you here, that you follow'd not to Leonato's house?

Bene. I would, your Grace would constrain me to tell. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.

Bene.