half my felf; I pray you, tell Benedick of it; and hear what he will fay.

Leon. Were it good, think you?

Claud. Hero thinks, furely the will die; for fhe fays, fhe will die if he love her not, and fhe will die ere the make her love known; and the will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustom'd crossness.

Pedro. She doth well; if the fhould make tender of her love, 'tis very poffible, he'll fcorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

Claud. He is a very proper man.

Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. Claud. 'Fore God, and, in my mind, very wife. Pedro. He doth, indeed, fhew fome sparks that are like wit.

Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I affure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may fay he is wife; for either he avoids them with great difcretion, or undertakes them with a chriftian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must neceffarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

Pedro. And fo will he do, for the man doth fear God, howfoever it seems not in him, by fome large jefts he will make. Well, I am forry for your Neice: fhall we go feek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leon. Nay, that's impoffible, she may wear her heart

out first.

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 modeftly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy to have fo good a lady.

Leon. My Lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation.

[Afide. Pedro.

Pedro. Let there be the fame net fpread for her, and that muft your daughter and her gentlewomen carry 3 the sport will be, when they hold an opinion of one another's dotage, and no fuch matter; that's the Scene that I would fee, which will be meerly a Dumb Show; let us fend her to call him to dinner. [Afide.] [Exeunt.

Benedick advances from the Arbour.

Bene. This can be no trick, the conference was fadly born; they have the truth of this from Hero; they feem to pity the lady; it feems, her affections have the full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited: I hear, how I am cenfur'd; they fay, I will bear my felf proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they fay too, that she will rather die than give any fign of affection. ————————— I did never think to marryI must not seem proud happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending: they fay, the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear, them witnefs and virtuous;-'tis fo, I cannot reprove it: and wife, 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 to have fome odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have rail'd fo long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quipps and fentences, and thefe paperbullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? no: the world must be peopled. When I faid, I would die a batchelor, I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. Here comes Beatrice: by this day, she's a fair lady; I do fpy fome marks of love in her.

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am fent to bid you come in to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

1

Beat. I took no more pains for thofe thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come..

Bene. You take pleasure then in the meffage.

Beat. Yea, juft fo much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choak a daw withal: you have no ftomach, Signior; fare you well. [Exit. Bene. Ha! against my will I am fent to bid you come in to dinner: there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for thofe thanks, than you took pains to thank me; that's as much as to fay, any pains that I take for you is as eafie as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a few; I will go get her Picture. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE continues in the Orchard.

G

Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.

HERO.

OOD Margaret, run thee into the parlour, There fhalt thou find my Coufin Beatrice, Propofing with the Prince and Claudio; Whisper her car, and tell her, I and Urfula Walk in the orchard, and our whole difcourse Is all of her; fay, that thou overheard'it us; And bid her teal into the pleached Bower, Where honey-fuckles, ripen'd by the Sun, Forbid the Sun to enter; like to Favourites, Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it: there will the hide her, To liften our Propofe; this is thy office,

Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg.

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant, prefently. [Exit. Hero. Now, Urfula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley up and down,

Our Talk muft only be of Benedick;

When I do name him, let it be thy Partie

To praise him more than ever man did merit. o: i
My Talk to thee must be how Benedick

Is fick in love with Beatrice; of this matter tovoni D. A Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,

That only wounds by hear-fay: now begin.

Enter Beatrice, running towards the Arbour.
For look, where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference."
Urfu. The pleafant'ft angling is to fee the filh
Cut with her golden oars the filver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait;
So angle we for Beatrice, who e'en now
Is couched in the woodbine-coverture ;-
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lofe nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
No, truly, Urfula, fhe's too difdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild,
As haggerds of the rock.

Urfu. But are you sure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice fo intirely?

Hero. So fays the Prince, and my new-trothed lord. Urfu. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam? Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it; But I perfuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, To with him wraftle with affection,

And never to let. Beatrice know of it.

Urfu. Why did you fo? doth not the Gentleman. Deferve as full, as fortunate a bed,

As ever Beatrice fhall couch upon ?

Hero. O God of love! I know, he doth deferve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart

Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.

Ff3

Difdain

Disdain and Scorn ride fparkling in her eyes,
Mif-prizing what they look on; and her wit
Values it felf fo highly, that to her

All matter elfe feems weak; fhe cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is fo felf-indeared.

Urfu. Sure, I think fo;

And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, left she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet faw man,
How wife, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would fpell him backward; if fair-fac'd, (12)
She'd fwear, the gentleman fhould be her fister;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a launce ill-headed;
If low, an Aglet very vilely cut; (13)

(12)

if fair-fac'd,

She'd fear, the Gentleman fhould be her Sifter;
If black, why Nature drawing of an Antick,

Made a foul Blot; if tall, a Lance ill headed; &c.

If

Some of the Editors have pretended, that our Author never imitates any Paffages of the Antients. Methinks, this is so very like a remarkable Defcription in Lucretius; (lib. iv. verf. 1154, &c.) that I can't help fufpecting, Shakespeare had it in View; the only Difference feems to be, that the Latine Poet's Characteristics turn upon Praife; our Countryman's, upon the Hinge of Derogation.

Nigra, uenixe eft; immunda & fætida, anooμ•
Cafia, and ov nervofa & lignea, Sopnás.

Parvola, pumilio, xaeizwy ula, tota merum Sal:

Magna atque immanis, naláwanğıs, plenaque honoris.

(13) If low, an Agat very vilely cut;] But why an Agat, if low? And what Shadow of Likeness between a little Man and an Agat? The Antients, indeed, ufed this Stone to cut in, and upon; but most exquifitely. I make no Question, but the Poet wrote;

an Aglet very vilely cut;

An Aglet was the Tagg of thofe Points, formerly fo much in Fashion.
Thefe Taggs were either of Gold, Silver, or Brass, according to the
Quality of the Wearer; and were commonly in the Shape of little
Images; or at leaft had a Head cut at the Extremity, as is feen at the
End of the Start of old-fashion'd Spoons. And as a tall Man is before
compar'd to a Launce ill-headed; fo, by the fame Figure, a little Man
is very aptly liken'd to an Aglet ill-cut.
Mr. Warburton.
I'll fubjoin a few Paffages in Confirmation of my Friend's beautiful
Conjecture.