D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me: and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. D. Pedro, Well, as time shall try: In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted; and in such great letters as they write, Here is good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign,-here you may see Benedick the married man. Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be born-mad. D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's; commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great preparation. Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I commit you Cloud. To the tuition of God: from my house, (if I had it)[Benedick. D. Pedro. The sixth of July: your loving friend, Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: the body of your discourse is some time guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your Bor science; and so I leave you. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. \Exit. [how, D. Pedre. My love is thine to teach; teach it but Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of. Leon. Are they good? Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a good cover, they shew well outward. The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine: the prince discovered to Claudio, that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him, and question him yourself. Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it SCENE III.-Another Room in Leonato's House. breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. D. John. And, when I have heard it, what bless- Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufD. John. I wonder, that thou, being (as thou say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad, when I have cause, and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir: stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep, when Dost thou affect her, Claudio? Claud. D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader The fairest grant is the necessity: Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, thou lov'st; I know, we shall have revelling to-night; [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Room in Leonato's House. I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour. Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this, till you may do it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true root, but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest. D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdain'd of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied, that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage: if I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would my liking in the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me. do Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only -Who comes here? What news, Borachio? Enter BORACHIO. Bora. I came yonder from a great supper; the prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage. D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for a fool, that betroths himself to unquietness? Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. D. John. A proper squire! and who, and who? came you to this? Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. D. John. Come, come, let us thither; this may prove food to my displeasure: that young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow; if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way you are both sure, and will assist me? Con. To the death, my lord. D. John. Let us to the great supper; their cheer is the greater, that I am subdued: 'would the cook were of my mind!-Shall we go prove what's to be done? Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-A Hall in Leonato's House. Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others. Leon. Was not count John here at supper? Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid-way between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling. Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face, Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,-if he could get her good will. Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Ant. In faith she is too curst. Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's sending that way: for it is said, God sends a curst cow short horns; but to a cow too curst he sends none. [no horns. Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening: Lord! I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie in the woollen. [no beard. Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no beard, is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth, is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. Leon. Well then, go you into hell? Beat. No; but to the gate; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here's no place for you maids: so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: he shews me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long. Ant. Well, niece (to Hero.) I trust, you will be ruled by your father. Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you:-but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, Father, as it please me. Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him, there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, Hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by day-light. Leon. The revellers are entering; brother, make good room. Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BAL THAZAR; Don JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, and others, masked. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend? Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, espe cially, when I walk away. D. Pedro. With me in your company? D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend. the lute should be like the case! D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; witha the house is Jove. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. (Takes her aside. Bene. Well, I would you did like me. Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for! have many ill qualities. Bene. Which is one ? Marg. I say my prayers aloud. [Amen Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry Marg. God match me with a good dancer! Balth. Amen. Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when the dance is done !-Answer, clerk. Balth. No more words; the clerk is answered. Urs. I know you well enough; you are sign Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man: here's his dry hand and down; you are he, you are he. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself” Go to, mum, you are he graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Beat. That I was disdainful,-and that I had good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales;—Weli. this was signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. Beat. Did he never make you laugh? Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: Done bat libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; for be both pleaseth men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say. Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure, not marked, or nut laughed at, strikes him into melancholy and then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. (Music within.) We mast follow the leaders. Bene. In every good thing. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave Lem at the next turning. (Dance.) Exeunt all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio. D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and bath withdrawn her father to break with him about it: the ladies follow her, and but one visor [bearing. Bora, And that is Claudio: I know him by his D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? Claud. You know me well; I am he. ferains. D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamour'd on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it. Claud. How know you he loves her? D. John. heard him swear his affection. Bra. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night. D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Which I mistrusted not: farewell, therefore, Hero! Bene. Count Claudio? Cand. Yea, the same. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain? under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You Best wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero Cud. I wish him joy of her. Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; tey sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus? Claud. I pray you, leave me. Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man ; twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post. I am Cloud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. Bene. Alas! poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep int sedges.--But, that my lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The prince's fool!— Ha! it may be, I go under that title, because I merry.-Yea; but so: I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so reputed: it is the base, the bitter disposition of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, aud so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro, Hero, and LEONATO. D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? Did you see him? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy: who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shews it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself; and the rod he might have bestow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his bird's nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman, that danced with her, told her she is much wronged by you. Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answer'd her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her she told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that I was duller than a great thaw; buddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me: she speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with ali that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Até in good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. Re-enter CLAUDIO and BEATRICE. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy: you have no employment for me? D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not; I cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of signior Benedick. Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before, he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say, I have lost it. D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are Claud. Not sad, my lord. [you sad? D. Pedro. How then? Sick? Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well: but civil, count; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of mar-dick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy riage, and God give thee joy! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes; his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it! Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your due. Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care: my cousin tells him in his ear, that he is in her heart. Claud. And so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good lord, for alliance!-Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned; I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho! for a husband. D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for working-days: your grace is too costly to wear every day;-But, I beseech your grace, pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Consius, God give you joy! D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know: thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick:and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benestomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. SCENE II.—Another Room in Leonato's House. Enter Don JOHN and BORACHIO. D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross the marriage? Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly. that no dishonesty shall appear in me. D. John. Shew me briefly how. Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamberwindow. [this marriage D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to tel him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a ce as Hero. D. John. What proof shall I make of that? Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to ver Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato: look you for any other issue? D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.-By your grace's pardon. [Exit Beatrice. Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw D D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, that Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in you know that Hero loves me; intend a kind of her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps; both to the prince and Claudio, as-in love of your and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter brother's honour, who hath made this match; and say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened waked herself with laughing. [band. with the semblance of a maid, that you have dis D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus-covered thus. They will scarcely believe this with Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers out trial offer them instances; which shall bear out of suit. dick. less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber-wis D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- dow; hear me call Margaret, Hero; hear Margare Leon. O lord, my lord, if they were but a week term me Borachio; and bring them to see this, the married, they would talk themselves mad. very night before the intended wedding: for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that He shall be absent; and there shall appear such seening truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrows D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it ca I will pot it in practice: be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day d SCENE III.-Leonato's Garden. Bene. Boy, Boy. Signior. Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am here already, sir Bene. I know that; but I would have thee hence, Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to and here again. [Exit Boy.)-I do much wonder help my cousin to a good husband. that one man seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, by falling in love: and such a man is Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the drum and fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known, when he would have walked ten mule a-foot, to see a good armour; and now will be lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man, and a soldier; and now is he turn'd orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he sball never make me such a fool. One woman is fair; yet I am well: another is wise; yet I am well : another virtuous; yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll Tone; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or Ill never look on her; mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour. (Withdraws.) Enter Don PEDRO, LEONATO, and CLAUDIO. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? Claud. Yea, my good lord:-How still the evening is, As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended, We'll fit the kid fox with a penny-worth. Enter BALTHAZAR, with music. D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander music any more than once. D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, fo put a strange face on his own perfection:pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; Since many a wooer does commence his suit f her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes; let will he swear, he loves. D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : r, if thou wilt hold longer argument, Do it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes, There's not a note of mine, that's worth the noting. D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets, that he speaks; Note, notes, forsooth, and noting! (Music.) Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravished! -Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should hale nds out of men's bodies?-Well, a horn for my Doney, when all's done. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. D. Pedro. Ha? no; no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. Bene. (Aside.) An he had been a dog, that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him: and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry (to Claudio);-Dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. Balth. The best I can, my lord. D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and music.] Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick? Claud. O, ay:-Stalk on, stalk on. the fowl sits. (Aside to Pedro.) I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath, in all outward behaviours, seemed ever to abhor. Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? (Aside.) Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it; but that she loves him with an enraged affection,-it is past the infinite of thought. D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Leon. O God! counterfeit! There never was counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it. [she? D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shews Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. (Aside.) Leon. What effects, my lord! She will sit you,― You heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did, indeed. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been inviucible against all assaults of affection. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick. Bene. (Aside.) I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. (Aside.) D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? [torment. Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him? Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night; and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ a sheet of paper:-my daughter tells us all. Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Leon. O-When she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? Claud. That. Leon. O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her: I measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses:-O sweet Benedick! God give me patience! Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des perate outrage to herself: it is very true. |