Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yefternight

Maintain❜d the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is fome ftrange misprifion in the Princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour, And if their wifdoms be mif-led in this,

The Practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
These hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudeft of them fhall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet fo dry'd this blood of mine,
Nor age fo eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made fuch havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me fo much of friends,
But they shall find awak'd, in such a kind,
Both ftrength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar. Paufe a while,

And let my counfel fway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the Princes left for dead; (17)
Let her awhile be fecretly kept in,

And publish it, that the is dead, indeed:
Maintain a mourning oftentation,

And on your family's old Monument

(17) Your Daughter here the Princefs (left for dead)] But how comes Hero to ftart up a Princess here? We have no Intimation of her Father being a Prince; and this is the first and only Time that She is complimented with this Dignity. The Remotion of a fingle Letter, and of the Parenthefis, will bring her to her own Rank, and the Place to its true Meaning.

Your Daughter here the Princes left for dead;

i, e. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon; and his Baftard Brother who is likewise call'd a Prince. So in the other Paffages of this Play;

To burn the Error that these Princes hold

Against her Maiden Honour.

And again,

There is fome frange Mifprifion in thefe Princes. And again,

I thank you, Princes, for my Daughter's Death.

Hang

Hang mournful Epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? what will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf
Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good:
But not for that dream I on this ftrange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth:
She dying, as it must be fo maintain'd,
Upon the inftant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: for it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth, (18)
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not fhew us
Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear the dy'd upon his words,
Th' idea of her Life fhall fweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit;
More moving, delicate, and full of life,

Into the eye and profpect of his foul,

Than when she liv'd indeed. Then shall he mourn,
If ever love had intereft in his liver,

And with, he had not so accused her;

No, though he thought his accufation true:
Let this be fo, and doubt not, but fuccefs
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 fuppofition of the lady's death

(18) That, What we have, we prize not to the Worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the Value; then we find
The Virtue that Poffeffion would not be us
Whilft it was ours:

-] Whether this be an Imitation,

or no, I won't contend; but if not, it seems to me a very fine Paraphrase on this Paffage of Horace; Lib. III. Ode 24.

Virtutem incolumem odimus,

Sublatam ex oculis quærimus invidi.

Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As beft befits her wounded reputation,
In fome 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 justly, as your foul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar. 'Tis well confented, prefently away;

For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they strain the cure.

Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day,

Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience and endure.

Manent Benedick and Beatrice.

[Exeunt.

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 coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch friendship?
Beat. A very even way, but no fuch friend.
Bene. May a man do it?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.

Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that strange?

Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not; it were as poffible for me to fay, I loved nothing fo well as you, but believe me not; and yet I lye not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin.

Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'st me.
Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it.

Bene.

Bene. I will fwear 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 fauce that can be devis'd to it; I proteft, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me.

Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have ftay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to proteft, I lov'd you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. I love you with fo much of my heart, that none is left to protest.

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny; farewel.

Bene. Tarry, fweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love in you; nay, I pray you, let me go.

Bene. Beatrice,

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends firft.

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, difhonour'd my kinswoman! O that I were a man! what bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then with publick accufation, uncover'd flander, unmitigated rancourO God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window?

proper faying!

Bene. Nay, but Beatrice.

Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, fhe is flander'd, fhe is undone.

Bene. Beat

Beat.

Beat. Princes and Counts! furely, a princely teftimony, a goodly count-comfect, a fweet 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 curtefies, 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 fwears 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. Ufe it for my love fome other way than fwearing by it.

Bene. Think you in your foul, the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?

Beat. Yea, as fure as I have a thought or a foul.

Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him, I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you; by this hand, Claudio fhall render me a dear account; as you hear of me, fo think of me; go comfort your coufin; I must fay, fhe is dead, and fo farewel. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Prifon.

Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conráde, the Town-Clerk and Sexton in Gowns.

To. Cl. S our whole diffembly appear'd?

CL.IS Dog. O, a ftool and a cushion for the fexton!

Sexton. Which be the malefactors?

Verg. Marry, that am I and my Partner.

Dog. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to

examine.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examin'd? let them come before mafter conftable,

To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before me; what is your name, friend?

Bora. Borachio.

To. Cl. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, Sirrah? Conr. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Con

rade.

To. Cl.