Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown

loins?

But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her: why, she-Oh! she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea

Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh !

Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient;

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.

Beat. Oh! on my soul, my cousin is belied! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

Beat. No, truly, not; although, until last night,

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirin'd! Oh! that is stronger made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! Would the two princes lie and Claudio lie? Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,

Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her

die.

Friar. Hear me a little ;

For I have only been silent so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady: I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth :-Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be :

left,

Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness ?
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd
of?

Hero. They know, that do accuse me; I know
If I know more of any man alive, [none :
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant
Let all my sins lack mercy!-O my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours uumeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any crea.

| Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar. Pause a while,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;
And on your family's old monument
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 carried, shall on her behalf

Change slander to remorse; that is soine good:
But not for that, dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it so falls out,
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 possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours-So will it fare with Clan-
dio :

When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination; ̧
And every lovely organ of ber life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she liv'd indeed :-then shall be

mourn,

(If ever love had interest in his liver,)
And wish he had not so accused ber;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
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 supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
(As best befits her wounded reputation,)
in some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you :
Aud though, you know, my inwardness

love

Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

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

and

Friar. 'Tis well consented: presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.

Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day, Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience, and endure..

[Exeunt FRIAR, HERO, and LEONATO. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene. I will not desire that.

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely.

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd.

Beat. Ah! how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; aud, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one, that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath bad losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him:-I Bring him away. O that I had been writ down [Exeunt.

-an ass.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-Before LEONATO's House.

Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO.
Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief
Against yourself.

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth

mine,

of

And let it answer every strain for strain;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form t
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should

drunk

With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak confort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong maduess in a silken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words;
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon. I pray thee, peace: I'will be flesh and blood;

For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.
Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will

do so:

My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied,
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO.

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.

D. Pedro. Good den, good den.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you, my lords,-

D. Pedro. We have some baste, Leonato.
Leon. Some haste, my lord !-well, fare you

well, my lord :

Are you so hasty now ?-well, all is one.

thou :

at me:

[do,

kill'd my child;

If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : But that's no matter; let bim kill one first ;Win me and wear me,-let him answer me,Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow ine; Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining + fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother,

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my niece;

And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains;
That dare as well answer a man, indeed,

As I dare take a serpent by the tongue :
Boys, apes, braggards, Jacks, milksops!-
Leon. Brother Antony,-

Ant. Hold you content: What, man! I know them, yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:

Scambling, out-facing, fashion mong'ing boys, That lie, and cog, and Blout, deprave, and slander

Go antickly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies if they durst
And this is all.

Leon. But, brother Antony,-
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter;

Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.

My heart is sorry for your daughter's death:
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with no-
thing

But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon. My lord, my lord,-

D. Pedro. I will not hear you.
Leon. No?

Brother, away :-1 will be heard ;-
Ant. And shall,

Or some of us will smart for it.

[Exeunt LEONATO and ANTONIO,

Enter BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we

old man.

• Admonition.

Claud. Now, signior! what news!

Bene. Good day, my lord. D. Pedro. Welcome, siguior: You are almost come to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses suapped off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What! think'st thou Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them.

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene. It is in my scabbard; Shall I draw it? D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to plea

sure us.

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, be looks pale-Art thou sick, or angry? Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against mě :-1 pray you, choose another subject.

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this last was broke cross.

D. Pedro. By this light he changes more and more; I think, he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle..

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claud. God bless me from a challenge! Bene. You are a villain;-1 jest not:-1 will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:-Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast?

Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he bath bid + me to a calf's-head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say, my kuife's naught. -Shall I not find a woodcock too?

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a great wit; Right, says she, a great gross one: Nay, said I, a good wit; Just, said she, it hurts nobody: Nay, said I, the gentle man is wise; Certain, said she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the tongues: That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular virtues; yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not.

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all.

Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden.

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man?

brother was fled?

Dogb. Come, you, Sir; if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to.

D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men bound! Borachio, one!

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord! D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb. Marry, Sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths: secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge.

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood: What's your offence?

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 1 bave deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night, over-heard me confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incensed † me to slander the lady Hero: how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garment; how you disgraced her, when you should marry her my villany they have upon record; which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this?

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of And fled he is upon his villany. [treachery :Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth ap

pear

In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.

To give a challenge.

tluvited.

• Serious.

+ Incited.

Sexton.

eyes;

on me.

self;

Impose me to what penauce your invention
Can lay upon my sin yet sinn'd I not,
But in mistaking.

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I;

And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live,
That were impossible; but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died: and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,

And sing it to her bones; sing it to-night :—
To-morrow morning come you to my house;
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: my brother bath a daugh-

ter,

Almost the copy of my child that's dead, And she alone is heir to both of us;

well; God restore you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.-Come, neighbour. [Exeunt DOG BERRY, VERGES, and WATCH. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-morrow.

D. Pedro. We will not fail.

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret,

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-LEONATO'S Garden. Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting. Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it: for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep below stairs?

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.

Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers.

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must

cousin,

And so dies my revenge.

Claud. O noble Sir,

Your over-kindess doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose

For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your

coming;

To-night take my leave.-This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not;

gerous weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, [Exit MARGARET. Bene. And therefore will come.

I think, hath legs.

The god of love,

That sits above,

[Singing.]

me;

But always hath been just and virtuous,
In any thing that I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, Sir, (which, indeed, is not under white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock banging by it; and borrows money in God's name; the which he bath used so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you, examine him upon that point.

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.