5I Learne in this Letter, that Don Peter of Arra-

6gon, comes this night to Messina.

7Mess. He is very neere by this: he was not

8three Leagues off when I left him.

9Leon. How many Gentlemen haue you lost in this

10action?

11Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

12Leon. A victorie is twice it selfe, when the atchieuer

13brings home full numbers: I finde heere, that Don Pe-

14ter hath bestowed much honor on a yong Florentine, cal-

15led Claudio.

16Mess. Much deseru'd on his part, and equally remem-

17bred by Don Pedro, he hath borne himselfe beyond the

18promise of his age, doing in the figure of a Lambe, the

19feats of a Lion, he hath indeede better bettred expecta-

20tion, then you must expect of me to tell you how.

21Leo. He hath an Vnckle heere in Messina, wil be very

22much glad of it.

23Mess. I haue alreadie deliuered him letters, and there

24appeares much ioy in him, euen so much, that ioy could

25not shew it selfe modest enough, without a badg of bit-

26ternesse.

27Leo. Did he breake out into teares?

28Mess. In great measure.

29Leo. A kinde ouerflow of kindnesse, there are no fa-

30ces truer, then those that are so wash'd, how much bet-

31ter is it to weepe at ioy, then to ioy at weeping?

32Bea. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return'd from

33the warres, or no?

34Mess. I know none of that name, Lady, there was

35none such in the armie of any sort.

36Leon. What is he that you aske for Neece?

37Hero. My cousin meanes Signior Benedick of Padua

38Mess. O he's return'd, and as pleasant as euer he was.

39Beat. He set vp his bils here in Messina, & challeng'd

40Cupid at the Flight: and my Vnckles foole reading the

41Challenge, subscrib'd for Cupid, and challeng'd him at

42the Burbolt. I pray you, how many hath hee kil'd and

43eaten in these warres? But how many hath he kil'd? for

44indeed, I promis'd to eate all of his killing.

45Leon. 'Faith Neece, you taxe Signior Benedicke too

46much, but hee'l be meet with you, I doubt it not.

47Mess. He hath done good seruice Lady in these wars.

48Beat. You had musty victuall, and he hath holpe to

49ease it: he's a very valiant Trencher-man, hee hath an

50excellent stomacke.

51Mess. And a good souldier too Lady.

52Beat. And a good souldier to a Lady. But what is he

53to a Lord?

54Mess. A Lord to a Lord, a man to a man, stuft with

55all honourable vertues.

56Beat. It is so indeed, he is no lesse then a stuft man:

57but for the stuffing well, we are all mortall.

58Leon. You must not (sir) mistake my Neece, there is

59a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick, & her:

60they neuer meet, but there's a skirmish of wit between

61them.

62Bea. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last con-

63flict, foure of his fiue wits went halting off, and now is

64the whole man gouern'd with one: so that if hee haue

65wit enough to keepe himselfe warme, let him beare it

66for a difference betweene himselfe and his horse: For it

67is all the wealth that he hath left, to be knowne a reaso-

68nable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath

69euery month a new sworne brother.

70Mess. I'st possible?

71Beat. Very easily possible: he weares his faith but as

72the fashion of his hat, it euer changes with y^e next block.

73Mess. I see (Lady) the Gentleman is not in your

74bookes.

75Bea. No, and he were, I would burne my study. But

76I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young

77squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the

78diuell?

79Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble

80Claudio.

81Beat. O Lord, he will hang vpon him like a disease:

82he is sooner caught then the pestilence, and the taker

83runs presently mad. God helpe the noble Claudio, if hee

84haue caught the Benedict, it will cost him a thousand

85pound ere he be cur'd.

86Mess. I will hold friends with you Lady.

87Bea. Do good friend.

88Leo. You'l ne're run mad Neece.

89Bea. No, not till a hot Ianuary.

90Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd.

93Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet

94your trouble: the fashion of the world is to auoid cost,

95and you encounter it.

96Leon. Neuer came trouble to my house in the likenes

97of your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should

98remaine: but when you depart from me, sorrow abides,

99and happinesse takes his leaue.

102 Much adoe about Nothing.

100Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly: I

101thinke this is your daughter.

102Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me so.

103Bened. Were you in doubt that you askt her?

104Leonato. Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you a

105childe.

106Pedro. You haue it full Benedicke, we may ghesse by

107this, what you are, being a man, truely the Lady fathers

108her selfe: be happie Lady, for you are like an honorable

109father.

110Ben. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not

111haue his head on her shoulders for al Messina, as like him

112as she is.

113Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior

114Benedicke, no body markes you.

115Ben. What my deere Ladie Disdaine! are you yet

116liuing?

117Beat. Is it possible Disdaine should die, while shee

118hath such meete foode to feede it, as Signior Benedicke?

119Curtesie it selfe must conuert to Disdaine, if you come in

120her presence.

121Bene. Then is curtesie a turne-coate, but it is cer-

122taine I am loued of all Ladies, onely you excepted: and

123I would I could finde in my heart that I had not a hard

124heart, for truely I loue none.

125Beat. A deere happinesse to women, they would else

126haue beene troubled with a pernitious Suter, I thanke

127God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that, I

128had rather heare my Dog barke at a Crow, than a man

129sweare he loues me.

130Bene. God keepe your Ladiship still in that minde,

131so some Gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate

132scratcht face.

133Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, and 'twere

134such a face as yours were.

135Bene. Well, you are a rare Parrat teacher.

136Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast of

137your.

138Ben. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue,

139and so good a continuer, but keepe your way a Gods

140name, I haue done.

141Beat. You alwaies end with a Iades tricke, I know

142you of old.

143Pedro. This is the summe of all: Leonato, signior Clau-

144dio, and signior Benedicke; my deere friend Leonato, hath

145inuited you all, I tell him we shall stay here, at the least

146a moneth, and he heartily praies some occasion may de-

147taine vs longer: I dare sweare hee is no hypocrite, but

148praies from his heart.

149Leon. If you sweare, my Lord, you shall not be for-

150sworne, let mee bid you welcome, my Lord, being re-

151conciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you all

152duetie.

153Iohn. I thanke you, I am not of many words, but I

154thanke you.

155Leon. Please it your grace leade on?

156Pedro. Your hand Leonato, we will goe together.

158Clau. Benedicke, didst thou note the daughter of sig-

159nior Leonato?

160Bene. I noted her not, but I lookt on her.

161Claud. Is she not a modest yong Ladie?

162Bene. Doe you question me as an honest man should

163doe, for my simple true iudgement? or would you haue

164me speake after my custome, as being a professed tyrant

165to their sexe?

166Clau. No, I pray thee speake in sober iudgement.

167Bene. Why yfaith me thinks shee's too low for a hie

168praise, too browne for a faire praise, and too little for a

169great praise, onely this commendation I can affoord her,

170that were shee other then she is, she were vnhandsome,

171and being no other, but as she is, I doe not like her.

172Clau. Thou think'st I am in sport, I pray thee tell me

173truely how thou lik'st her.

174Bene. Would you buie her, that you enquier after

175her?

176Clau. Can the world buie such a iewell?

177Ben. Yea, and a case to put it into, but speake you this

178with a sad brow? Or doe you play the flowting iacke, to

179tell vs Cupid is a good Hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare

180Carpenter: Come, in what key shall a man take you to

181goe in the song?

182Clau. In mine eie, she is the sweetest Ladie that euer

183I lookt on.

184Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no

185such matter: there's her cosin, and she were not possest

186with a furie, exceedes her as much in beautie, as the first

187of Maie doth the last of December: but I hope you haue

188no intent to turne husband, haue you?

189Clau. I would scarce trust my selfe, though I had

190sworne the contrarie, if Hero would be my wife.

191Bene. Ist come to this? in faith hath not the world one

192man but he will weare his cap with suspition? shall I ne-

193uer see a batcheller of three score againe? goe to yfaith,

194and thou wilt needes thrust thy necke into a yoke, weare

195the print of it, and sigh away sundaies: looke, don Pedro

196is returned to seeke you.

198Pedr. What secret hath held you here, that you fol-

199lowed not to Leonatoes?

200Bened. I would your Grace would constraine mee to

201tell.

202Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegeance.

203Ben. You heare, Count Claudio, I can be secret as a

204dumbe man, I would haue you thinke so (but on my al-

205legiance, marke you this, on my allegiance) hee is in

206loue, With who? now that is your Graces part: marke

207how short his answere is, with Hero, Leonatoes short

208daughter.

209Clau. If this were so, so were it vttred.

210Bened. Like the old tale, my Lord, it is not so, nor 'twas

211not so: but indeede, God forbid it should be so.

212Clau. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it

213should be otherwise.

214Pedro. Amen, if you loue her, for the Ladie is verie

215well worthie.

216Clau. You speake this to fetch me in, my Lord.

217Pedr. By my troth I speake my thought.

218Clau. And in faith, my Lord, I spoke mine.

219Bened. And by my two faiths and troths, my Lord, I

220speake mine.

221Clau. That I loue her, I feele.

222Pedr. That she is worthie, I know.

223Bened. That I neither feele how shee should be lo-

224ued, nor know how shee should be worthie, is the

225opinion that fire cannot melt out of me, I will die in it at

226the stake.

227Pedr. Thou wast euer an obstinate heretique in the de-

228spight of Beautie.

229Clau. And neuer could maintaine his part, but in the

230force of his will.

Much adoe about Nothing. 103

231Ben. That a woman conceiued me, I thanke her: that

232she brought mee vp, I likewise giue her most humble

233thankes: but that I will haue a rechate winded in my

234forehead, or hang my bugle in an inuisible baldricke, all

235women shall pardon me: because I will not do them the

236wrong to mistrust any, I will doe my selfe the right to

237trust none: and the fine is, (for the which I may goe the

238finer) I will liue a Batchellor.

239Pedro. I shall see thee ere I die, looke pale with loue.

240Bene. With anger, with sicknesse, or with hunger,

241my Lord, not with loue: proue that euer I loose more

242blood with loue, then I will get againe with drinking,

243picke out mine eyes with a Ballet-makers pe

nne, and

244hang me vp at the doore of a brothel-house for the signe

245of blinde Cupid.

246Pedro. Well, if euer thou doost fall from this faith,

247thou wilt proue a notable argument.

248Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a Cat, & shoot

249at me, and he that hit's me, let him be clapt on the shoul-

250der, and cal'd Adam.

251Pedro. Well, as time shall trie: In time the sauage

252Bull doth beare tne yoake.

253Bene. The sauage bull may, but if euer the sensible

254Benedicke beare it, plucke off the bulles hornes, and set

255them in my forehead, and let me be vildely painted, and

256in such great Letters as they write, heere is good horse

257to hire: let them signifie vnder my signe, here you may

258see Benedicke the married man.

259Clau. If this should euer happen, thou wouldst bee

260horne mad.

261Pedro. Nay, if Cupid haue not spent all his Quiuer in

262Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

263Bene. I looke for an earthquake too then.

264Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the houres, in

265the meane time, good Signior Benedicke, repaire to Leo-

266natoes, commend me to him, and tell him I will not faile

267him at supper, for indeede he hath made great prepara-

268tion.

269Bene. I haue almost matter enough in me for such an

270Embassage, and so I commit you.

271Clau. To the tuition of God. From my house, if I

272had it.

273Pedro. The sixt of Iuly. Your louing friend, Benedick.

274Bene. Nay mocke not, mocke not; the body of your

275discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the

276guardes are but slightly basted on neither, ere you flout

277old ends any further, examine your conscience, and so I

278leaue you. Exit.

279Clau. My Liege, your Highnesse now may doe mee

280good.

281Pedro. My loue is thine to teach, teach it but how,

282And thou shalt see how apt it is to learne

283Any hard Lesson that may do thee good.

284Clau. Hath Leonato any sonne my Lord?

285Pedro. No childe but Hero, she's his onely heire.

286Dost thou affect her Claudio?

287Clau. O my Lord,

288When you went onward on this ended action,

289I look'd vpon her with a souldiers eie,

290That lik'd, but had a rougher taske in hand,

291Than to driue liking to the name of loue:

292But now I am return'd, and that warre-thoughts

293Haue left their places vacant: in their roomes,

294Come thronging soft and delicate desires,

295All prompting mee how faire yong Hero is,

296Saying I lik'd her ere I went to warres.

297Pedro. Thou wilt be like a louer presently,

298And tire the hearer with a booke of words:

299If thou dost loue faire Hero, cherish it,

300And I will breake with her: wast not to this end,

301That thou beganst to twist so fine a story?

302Clau. How sweetly doe you minister to loue,

303That know loues griefe by his complexion!

304But lest my liking might too sodaine seeme,

305I would haue salu'd it with a longer treatise.

306Ped. What need y^e bridge much broder then the flood?

307The fairest graunt is the necessitie:

308Looke what will serue, is fit: 'tis once, thou louest,

309And I will fit thee with the remedie,

310I know we shall haue reuelling to night,

311I will assume thy part in some disguise,

312And tell faire Hero I am Claudio,

313And in her bosome Ile vnclaspe my heart,

314And take her hearing prisoner with the force

315And strong incounter of my amorous tale:

316Then after, to her father will I breake,

317And the conclusion is, shee shall be thine,

318In practise let vs put it presently. Exeunt.

320Leo. How now brother, where is my cosen your son:

321hath he prouided this musicke?

322Old. He is very busie about it, but brother, I can tell

323you newes that you yet dreamt not of.

324Lo. Are they good?

325Old. As the euents stamps them, but they haue a good

326couer: they shew well outward, the Prince and Count

327Claudio walking in a thick pleached alley in my orchard,

328were thus ouer-heard by a man of mine: the Prince dis-

329couered to Claudio that hee loued my niece your daugh-

330ter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance,

331and if hee found her accordant, hee meant to take the

332present time by the top, and instantly breake with you

333of it.

334Leo. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?

335Old. A good sharpe fellow, I will send for him, and

336question him your selfe.

337Leo. No, no; wee will hold it as a dreame, till it ap-

338peare it selfe: but I will acquaint my daughter withall,

339that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if per-

340aduenture this bee true: goe you and tell her of it: coo-

341sins, you know what you haue to doe, O I crie you mer-

342cie friend, goe you with mee and I will vse your skill,

343good cosin haue a care this busie time. Exeunt.

345Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are you

346thus out of measure sad?

347Ioh. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds,

348therefore the sadnesse is without limit.

349Con. You should heare reason.

350Iohn. And when I haue heard it, what blessing brin-

351geth it?

352Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance.

353Ioh. I wonder that thou (being as thou saist thou art,

354borne vnder Saturne) goest about to apply a morall me-

355dicine, to a mortifying mischiefe: I cannot hide what I

356am: I must bee sad when I haue cause, and smile at no

357mans iests, eat when I haue stomacke, and wait for no

358mans leisure: sleepe when I am drowsie, and tend on no

359mans businesse, laugh when I am merry, and claw no man

360in his humor.

361Con. Yea, but you must not make the ful show of this,

362till you may doe it without controllment, you haue of

104 Much adoe about Nothing.

363late stood out against your brother, and hee hath tane

364you newly into his grace, where it is impossible you

365should take root, but by the faire weather that you make

366your selfe, it is needful that you frame the season for your

367owne haruest.

368Iohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rose

369in his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be disdain'd of

370all, then to fashion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this

371(though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man)

372it must not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, I

373am trusted with a mussell, and enfranchisde with a clog,

374therefore I haue decreed, not to sing in my cage: if I had

375my mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would do

376my liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, and

377seeke not to alter me.

378Con. Can you make no vse of your discontent?

379Iohn. I will make all vse of it, for I vse it onely.

380Who comes here? what newes Borachio?

382Bor. I came yonder from a great supper, the Prince

383your brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I can

384giue you intelligence of an intended marriage.

385Iohn. Will it serue for any Modell to build mischiefe

386on? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himselfe to

387vnquietnesse?

388Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand.

389Iohn. Who, the most exquisite Claudio?

390Bor. Euen he.

391Iohn. A proper squier, and who, and who, which way

392lookes he?

393Bor. Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leo-

394nato.

395Iohn. A very forward March-chicke, how came you

396to this?

397Bor. Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was smoa-

398king a musty roome, comes me the Prince and Claudio,

399hand in hand in sad conference: I whipt behind the Ar-

400ras, and there heard it agreed vpon, that the Prince should

401wooe Hero for himselfe, and hauing obtain'd her, giue

402her to Count Claudio.

403Iohn. Come, come, let vs thither, this may proue food

404to my displeasure, that young start-vp hath all the glorie

405of my ouerthrow: if I can crosse him any way, I blesse

406my selfe euery way, you are both sure, and will assist

407mee?

408Conr. To the death my Lord.

409Iohn. Let vs to the great supper, their cheere is the

410greater that I am subdued, would the Cooke were of my

411minde: shall we goe proue whats to be done?

412Bor. Wee'll wait vpon your Lordship.

417Leonato. Was not Count Iohn here at supper?

418Brother. I saw him not.

419Beatrice. How tartly that Gentleman lookes, I neuer

420can see him, but I am heart-burn'd an howre after.

421Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

422Beatrice. Hee were an excellent man that were made

423iust in the mid-way betweene him and Benedicke, the one

424is too like an image and saies nothing, and the other too

425like my Ladies eldest sonne, euermore tatling.

426Leon. Then halfe signior Benedicks tongue in Count

427Iohns mouth, and halfe Count Iohns melancholy in Sig-

428nior Benedicks face.

429Beat. With a good legge, and a good foot vnckle, and

430money enough in his purse, such a man would winne any

431woman in the world, if he could get her good will.

432Leon. By my troth Neece, thou wilt neuer get thee a

433husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

434Brother. Infaith shee's too curst.

435Beat. Too curst is more then curst, I shall lessen Gods

436sending that way: for it is said, God sends a curst Cow

437short hornes, but to a Cow too curst he sends none.

438Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no

439hornes.

440Beat. Iust, if he send me no husband, for the which

441blessing, I am at him vpon my knees euery morning and

442euening: Lord, I could not endure a husband with a

443beard on his face, I had rather lie in the woollen.

444Leonato. You may light vpon a husband that hath no

445beard.

446Batrice. What should I doe with him? dresse him in

447my apparell, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? he

448that hath a beard, is more then a youth: and he that hath

449no beard, is lesse then a man: and hee that is more then a

450youth, is not for mee: and he that is lesse then a man, I am

451not for him: therefore I will euen take sixepence in ear-

452nest of the Berrord, and leade his Apes into hell.

453Leon. Well then, goe you into hell.

454Beat. No, but to the gate, and there will the Deuill

455meete mee like an old Cuckold with hornes on his head,

456and say, get you to heauen Beatrice, get you to heauen,

457heere's no place for you maids, so deliuer I vp my Apes,

458and away to S. Peter: for the heauens, hee shewes mee

459where the Batchellers sit, and there liue wee as merry as

460the day is long.

461Brother. Well neece, I trust you will be rul'd by your

462father.

463Beatrice. Yes faith, it is my cosens dutie to make curt-

464sie, and say, as it please you: but yet for all that cosin, let

465him be a handsome fellow, or else make an other cursie,

466and say, father, as it please me.

467Leonato. Well neece, I hope to see you one day fitted

468with a husband.

469Beatrice. Not till God make men of some other met-

470tall then earth, would it not grieue a woman to be ouer-

471mastred with a peece of valiant dust? to make account of

472her life to a clod of waiward marle? no vnckle, ile none:

473Adams sonnes are my brethren, and truly I hold it a sinne

474to match in my kinred.

475Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you, if the

476Prince doe solicit you in that kinde, you know your an-

477swere.

478Beatrice. The fault will be in the musicke cosin, if you

479be not woed in good time: if the Prince bee too impor-

480tant, tell him there is measure in euery thing, & so dance

481out the answere, for heare me Hero, wooing, wedding, &

482repenting, is as a Scotch ijgge, a measure, and a cinque-

483pace: the first suite is hot and hasty like a Scotch ijgge

484(and full as fantasticall) the wedding manerly modest,

485(as a measure) full of state & aunchentry, and then comes

486repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-

487pace faster and faster, till he sinkes into his graue.

Much adoe about Nothing 105

488Leonata. Cosin you apprehend passing shrewdly.

489Beatrice. I haue a good eye vnckle, I can see a Church

490by daylight.

491Leon. The reuellers are entring brother, make good

492roome.

495Pedro. Lady, will you walke about with your friend?

496Hero. So you walke softly, and looke sweetly, and say

497nothing, I am yours for the walke, and especially when I

498walke away.

499Pedro. With me in your company.

500Hero. I may say so when I please.

501Pedro. And when please you to say so?

502Hero. When I like your fauour, for God defend the

503Lute should be like the case.

504Pedro. My visor is Philemons roofe, within the house

505is Loue.

506Hero. Why then your visor should be thatcht.

507Pedro. Speake low if you speake Loue.

508Bene. Well, I would you did like me.

509Mar. So would not I for your owne sake, for I haue

510manie ill qualities.

511Bene. Which is one?

512Mar. I say my prayers alowd.

513Ben. I loue you the better, the hearers may cry Amen.

514Mar. God match me with a good dauncer.

515Balt. Amen.

516Mar. And God keepe him out of my sight when the

517daunce is done: answer Clarke.

518Balt. No more words, the Clarke is answered.

519Vrsula. I know you well enough, you are Signior An-

520thonio.

521Anth. At a word, I am not.

522Vrsula. I know you by the wagling of your head.

523Anth. To tell you true, I counterfet him.

524Vrsu. You could neuer doe him so ill well, vnlesse

525you were the very man: here's his dry hand vp & down,

526you are he, you are he.

527Anth. At a word I am not.

528Vrsula. Come, come, doe you thinke I doe not know

529you by your excellent wit? can vertue hide it selfe? goe

530to, mumme, you are he, graces will appeare, and there's

531an end.

532Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?

533Bene. No, you shall pardon me.

534Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?

535Bened. Not now.

536Beat. That I was disdainfull, and that I had my good

537wit out of the hundred merry tales: well, this was Signi-

538or Benedicke that said so.

539Bene. What's he?

540Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.

541Bene. Not I, beleeue me.

542Beat. Did he neuer make you laugh?

543Bene. I pray you what is he?

544Beat. Why he is the Princes ieaster, a very dull foole,

545onely his gift is, in deuising impossible slanders, none

546but Libertines delight in him, and the commendation is

547not in his witte, but in his villanie, for hee both pleaseth

548men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and

549beat him: I am sure he is in the Fleet, I would he had

550boorded me.

551Bene. When I know the Gentleman, Ile tell him what

552you say.

553Beat. Do, do, hee'l but breake a comparison or two

554on me, which peraduenture (not markt, or not laugh'd

555at) strikes him into melancholly, and then there's a Par-

556tridge wing saued, for the foole will eate no supper that

557night. We must follow the Leaders.

558Ben. In euery good thing.

559Bea. Nay, if they leade to any ill, I will leaue them

560at the next turning. Exeunt.

562Iohn. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath

563withdrawne her father to breake with him about it: the

564Ladies follow her, and but one visor remaines.

565Borachio. And that is Claudio, I know him by his bea-

566ring.

567Iohn. Are not you signior Benedicke?

568Clau. You know me well, I am hee.

569Iohn. Signior, you are verie neere my Brother in his

570loue, he is enamor'd on Hero, I pray you disswade him

571from her, she is no equall for his birth: you may do the

572part of an honest man in it.

573Claudio. How know you he loues her?

574Iohn. I heard him sweare his affection,

575Bor. So did I too, and he swore he would marrie her

576to night.

577Iohn. Come, let vs to the banquet. Ex. manet Clau.

578Clau. Thus answere I in name of Benedicke,

579But heare these ill newes with the eares of Claudio:

580'Tis certaine so, the Prince woes for himselfe:

581Friendship is constant in all other things,

582Saue in the Office and affaires of loue:

583Therefore all hearts in loue vse their owne tongues.

584Let euerie eye negotiate for it selfe,

585And trust no Agent: for beautie is a witch,

586Against whose charmes, faith melteth into blood:

587This is an accident of hourely proofe,

588Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero.

590Ben. Count Claudio.

591Clau. Yea, the same.

592Ben. Come, will you go with me?

593Clau. Whither?

594Ben. Euen to the next Willow, about your own bu-

595sinesse, Count. What fashion will you weare the Gar-

596land off? About your necke, like an Vsurers chaine? Or

597vnder your arme, like a Lieutenants scarfe? You must

598weare it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.

599Clau: I wish him ioy of her.

600Ben. Why that's spoken like an honest Drouier, so

601they sel Bullockes: but did you thinke the Prince wold

602haue serued you thus?

603Clau. I pray you leaue me.

604Ben. Ho now you strike like the blindman, 'twas the

605boy that stole your meate, and you'l beat the post.

606Clau. If it will not be, Ile leaue you. Exit.

607Ben. Alas poore hurt fowle, now will he creepe into

608sedges: But that my Ladie Beatrice should know me, &

609not know me: the Princes foole! Hah? It may be I goe

610vnder that title, because I am merrie: yea but so I am

611apt to do my selfe wrong: I am not so reputed, it is the

612base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice, that putt's

613the world into her person, and so giues me out: well, Ile

614be reuenged as I may.

616Pedro. Now Signior, where's the Count, did you

617see him?

106 Much ado about Nothing.

618Bene. Troth my Lord, I haue played the part of Lady

619Fame, I found him heere as melancholy as a Lodge in a

620Warren, I told him, and I thinke, told him true, that your

621grace had got the will of this young Lady, and I offered

622him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a

623garland, as being forsaken, or to binde him a rod, as be-

624ing worthy to be whipt.

625Pedro. To be whipt, what's his fault?

626Bene. The flat transgression of a Schoole-boy, who

627being ouer-ioyed with finding a birds nest, shewes it his

628companion, and he steales it.

629Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust, a transgression? the

630transgression is in the stealer.

631Ben. Yet it had not beene amisse the rod had beene

632made, and the garland too, for the garland he might haue

633worne himselfe, and the rod hee might haue bestowed on

634you, who (as I take it) haue stolne his birds nest.

635Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them

636to the owner.

637Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith

638you say honestly.

639Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrell to you, the

640Gentleman that daunst with her, told her shee is much

641wrong'd by you.

642Bene. O she misusde me past the indurance of a block:

643an oake but with one greene leafe on it, would haue an-

644swered her: my very visor began to assume life, and scold

645with her: shee told mee, not thinking I had beene my

646selfe, that I was the Princes Iester, and that I was duller

647then a great thaw, hudling iest vpon iest, with such im-

648possible conueiance vpon me, that I stood like a man at a

649marke, with a whole army shooting at me: shee speakes

650poynyards, and euery word stabbes: if her breath were

651as terrible as terminations, there were no liuing neere

652her, she would infect to the north starre: I would not

653marry her, though she were indowed with all that Adam

654had left him before he transgrest, she would haue made

655Hercules haue turnd spit, yea, and haue cleft his club to

656make the fire too: come, talke not of her, you shall finde

657her the infernall Ate in good apparell. I would to God

658some scholler would coniure her, for certainely while she

659is heere, a man may liue as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary,

660and people sinne vpon purpose, because they would goe

661thither, so indeed all disquiet, horror, and perturbation

662followes her.

664Pedro. Looke heere she comes.

665Bene. Will your Grace command mee any seruice to

666the worlds end? I will goe on the slightest arrand now

667to the Antypodes that you can deuise to send me on: I

668will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furthest inch

669of Asia: bring you the length of Prester Iohns foot: fetch

670you a hayre off the great Chams beard: doe you any em-

671bassage to the Pigmies, rather then hould three words

672conference, with this Harpy: you haue no employment

673for me?

674Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

675Bene. O God sir, heeres a dish I loue not, I cannot in-

676dure this Lady tongue. Exit.

677Pedr. Come Lady, come, you haue lost the heart of

678Signior Benedicke.

679Beatr. Indeed my Lord, hee lent it me a while, and I

680gaue him vse for it, a double heart for a single one, marry

681once before he wonne it of mee, with false dice, therefore

682your Grace may well say I haue lost it.

683Pedro. You haue put him downe Lady, you haue put

684him downe.

685Beat. So I would not he should do me, my Lord, lest

686I should prooue the mother of fooles: I haue brought

687Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seeke.

688Pedro. Why how now Count, wherfore are you sad?

689Claud. Not sad my Lord.

690Pedro. How then? sicke?

691Claud. Neither, my Lord.

692Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sicke, nor merry,

693nor well: but ciuill Count, ciuill as an Orange, and some-

694thing of a iealous complexion.

695Pedro. Ifaith Lady, I thinke your blazon to be true,

696though Ile be sworne, if hee be so, his conceit is false:

697heere Claudio, I haue wooed in thy name, and faire Hero

698is won, I haue broke with her father, and his good will

699obtained, name the day of marriage, and God giue

700thee ioy.

701Leona. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her

702my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, & all grace

703say, Amen to it.

704Beatr. Speake Count, tis your Qu.

705Claud. Silence is the perfectest Herault of ioy, I were

706but little happy if I could say, how much? Lady, as you

707are mine, I am yours, I giue away my selfe for you, and

708doat vpon the exchange.

709Beat. Speake cosin, or (if you cannot) stop his mouth

710with a kisse, and let not him speake neither.

711Pedro. In faith Lady you haue a merry heart.

712Beatr. Yea my Lord I thanke it, poore foole it keepes

713on the windy side of Care, my coosin tells him in his eare

714that he is in my heart.

715Clau. And so she doth coosin.

716Beat. Good Lord for alliance: thus goes euery one

717to the world but I, and I am sun-burn'd, I may sit in a cor-

718ner and cry, heigh ho for a husband.

719Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

720Beat. I would rather haue one of your fathers getting:

721hath your Grace ne're a brother like you? your father

722got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

723Prince. Will you haue me? Lady.

724Beat. No, my Lord, vnlesse I might haue another for

725working-daies, your Grace is too costly to weare euerie

726day: but I beseech your Grace pardon mee, I was borne

727to speake all mirth, and no matter.

728Prince. Your silence most offends me, and to be mer-

729ry, best becomes you, for out of question, you were born

730in a merry howre.

731Beatr. No sure my Lord, my Mother cried, but then

732there was a starre daunst, and vnder that was I borne: co-

733sins God giue you ioy.

734Leonato. Neece, will you looke to those rhings I told

735you of?

736Beat. I cry you mercy Vncle, by your Graces pardon.

738Prince. By my troth a pleasant spirited Lady.

739Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her

740my Lord, she is neuer sad, but when she sleepes, and not

741euer sad then: for I haue heard my daughter say, she hath

742often dreamt of vnhappinesse, and wakt her selfe with

743laughing.

744Pedro. Shee cannot indure to heare tell of a husband.

745Leonato. O, by no meanes, she mocks all her wooers

746out of suite.

747Prince. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

748Leonato. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a weeke

Much ado about Nothing. 107

749married, they would talke themselues madde.

750Prince. Counte Claudio, when meane you to goe to

751Church?

752Clau. To morrow my Lord, Time goes on crutches,

753till Loue haue all his rites.

754Leonata. Not till monday, my deare sonne, which is

755hence a iust seuen night, and a time too briefe too, to haue

756all things answer minde.

757Prince. Come, you shake the head at so long a brea-

758thing, but I warrant thee Claudio, the time shall not goe

759dully by vs, I will in the interim, vndertake one of Her-

760cules labors, which is, to bring Signior Benedicke and the

761Lady Beatrice into a mountaine of affection, th'one with

762th'other, I would faine haue it a match, and I doubt not

763but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assi-

764stance as I shall giue you direction.

765Leonata. My Lord, I am for you, though it cost mee

766ten nights watchings.

767Claud. And I my Lord.

768Prin. And you to gentle Hero?

769Hero. I will doe any modest office, my Lord, to helpe

770my cosin to a good husband.

771Prin. And Benedick is not the vnhopefullest husband

772that I know: thus farre can I praise him, hee is of a noble

773straine, of approued valour, and confirm'd honesty, I will

774teach you how to humour your cosin, that shee shall fall

775in loue with Benedicke, and I, with your two helpes, will

776so practise on Benedicke, that in despight of his quicke

777wit, and his queasie stomacke, hee shall fall in loue with

778Beatrice: if wee can doe this, Cupid is no longer an Ar-

779cher, his glory shall be ours, for wee are the onely loue-

780gods, goe in with me, and I will tell you my drift. Exit.

782Ioh. It is so, the Count Claudio shal marry the daugh-

783ter of Leonato.

784Bora. Yea my Lord, but I can crosse it.

785Iohn. Any barre, any crosse, any impediment, will be

786medicinable to me, I am sicke in displeasure to him, and

787whatsoeuer comes athwart his affection, ranges euenly

788with mine, how canst thou crosse this marriage?

789Bor. Not honestly my Lord, but so couertly, that no

790dishonesty shall appeare in me.

791Iohn. Shew me breefely how.

792Bor. I thinke I told your Lordship a yeere since, how

793much I am in the fauour of Margaret, the waiting gentle-

794woman to Hero.

795Iohn. I remember.

796Bor. I can at any vnseasonable instant of the night,

797appoint her to look out at her Ladies chamber window.

798Iohn. What life is in that, to be the death of this mar-

799riage?

800Bor. The poyson of that lies in you to temper, goe

801you to the Prince your brother, spare not to tell him, that

802hee hath wronged his Honor in marrying the renowned

803Claudio, whose estimation do you mightily hold vp, to a

804contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.

805Iohn. What proofe shall I make of that?

806Bor. Proofe enough, to misuse the Prince, to vexe

807Claudio, to vndoe Hero, and kill Leonato, looke you for a-

808ny other issue?

809Iohn. Onely to despight them, I will endeauour any

810thing.

811Bor. Goe then, finde me a meete howre, to draw on

812Pedro and the Count Claudio alone, tell them that you

813know that Hero loues me, intend a kinde of zeale both

814to the Prince and Claudio (as in a loue of your brothers

815honor who hath made this match) and his friends repu-

816tation, who is thus like to be cosen'd with the semblance

817of a maid, that you haue discouer'd thus: they will scarce-

818ly beleeue this without triall: offer them instances which

819shall beare no lesse likelihood, than to see mee at her

820chamber window, heare me call Margaret, Hero; heare

821Margaret terme me Claudio, and bring them to see this

822the very night before the intended wedding, for in the

823meane time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall

824be absent, and there shall appeare such seeming truths of

825Heroes disloyaltie, that iealousie shall be cal'd assurance,

826and all the preparation ouerthrowne.

827Iohn. Grow this to what aduerse issue it can, I will

828put it in practise: be cunning in the working this, and

829thy fee is a thousand ducates.

830Bor. Be thou constant in the accusation, and my cun-

831ning shall not shame me.

832Iohn. I will presentlie goe learne their day of marri-

833age. Exit.

835Bene. Boy.

836Boy. Signior.

837Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it

838hither to me in the orchard.

839Boy. I am heere already sir. Exit.

840Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and

841heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man seeing

842how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his

843behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at such

844shallow follies in others, become the argument of his

845owne scorne, by falling in loue, & such a man is Claudio,

846I haue known when there was no musicke with him but

847the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the

848taber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would haue

849walkt ten mile afoot, to see a good armor, and now will

850he lie ten nights awake caruing the fashion of a new dub-

851let: he was wont to speake plaine, & to the purpose (like

852an honest man & a souldier) and now is he turn'd ortho-

853graphy, his words are a very fantasticall banquet, iust so

854many strange dishes: may I be so conuerted, & see with

855these eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee

856sworne, but loue may transforme me to an oyster, but Ile

857take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyster of me, he

858shall neuer make me such a foole: one woman is faire, yet

859I am well: another is wise, yet I am well: another vertu-

860ous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman,

861one woman shall not come in my grace: rich shee shall

862be, that's certaine: wise, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile ne-

863uer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde,

864or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: of

865good discourse: an excellent Musitian, and her haire shal

866be of what colour it please God, hah! the Prince and

867Monsieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor.

869Prin. Come, shall we heare this musicke?

870Claud. Yea my good Lord: how still the euening is,

871As husht on purpose to grace harmonie.

872Prin. See you where Benedicke hath hid himselfe?

873Clau. O very well my Lord: the musicke ended,

874Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth.

875Prince. Come Balthasar, wee'll heare that song again.

876Balth. O good my Lord, taxe not so bad a voyce,

877To slander musicke any more then once.

878Prin. It is the witnesse still of excellency,

108 Much ado about Nothing.

879To slander Musicke any more then once.

880Prince. It is the witnesse still of excellencie,

881To put a strange face on his owne perfection,

882I pray thee sing, and let me woe no more.

883Balth. Because you talke of wooing, I will sing,

884Since many a wooer doth commence his suit,

885To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes,

886Yet will he sweare he loues.

887Prince. Nay pray thee come,

888Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,

889Doe it in notes.

890Balth. Note this before my notes,

891Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

892Prince. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks,

893Note notes forsooth, and nothing.

894Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his soule rauisht, is it

895not strange that sheepes guts should hale soules out of

896mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's

897done.

912Prince. By my troth a good song.

913Balth. And an ill singer, my Lord.

914Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou singst well enough for a

915shift.

916Ben. And he had been a dog that should haue howld

917thus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his

918bad voyce bode no mischiefe, I had as liefe haue heard

919the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af-

920ter it.

921Prince. Yea marry, dost thou heare Balthasar? I pray

922thee get vs some excellent musick: for to morrow night

923we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window.

924Balth. The best I can, my Lord. Exit Balthasar.

925Prince. Do so, farewell. Come hither Leonato, what

926was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice

927was in loue with signior Benedicke?

928Cla. O I, stalke on, stalke on, the foule sits. I did ne-

929uer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man.

930Leon. No, nor I neither, but most wonderful, that she

931should so dote on Signior Benedicke, whom shee hath in

932all outward behauiours seemed euer to abhorre.

933Bene. Is't possible? sits the winde in that corner?

934Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to

935thinke of it, but that she loues him with an inraged affe-

936ction, it is past the infinite of thought.

937Prince. May be she doth but counterfeit.

938Claud. Faith like enough.

939Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counter-

940feit of passion, came so neere the life of passion as she dis-

941couers it.

942Prince. Why what effects of passion shewes she?

943Claud. Baite the hooke well, this fish will bite.

944Leon. What effects my Lord? shee will sit you, you

945heard my daughter tell you how.

946Clau. She did indeed.

947Prin. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would

948haue thought her spirit had beene inuincible against all

949assaults of affection.

950Leo. I would haue sworne it had, my Lord, especially

951against Benedicke.

952Bene. I should thinke this a gull, but that the white-

953bearded fellow speakes it: knauery cannot sure hide

954himselfe in such reuerence.

955Claud. He hath tane th'infection, hold it vp.

956Prince. Hath shee made her affection known to Bene-

957dicke?

958Leonato. No, and sweares she neuer will, that's her

959torment.

960Claud. 'Tis true indeed, so your daughter saies: shall

961I, saies she, that haue so oft encountred him with scorne,

962write to him that I loue him?

963Leo. This saies shee now when shee is beginning to

964write to him, for shee'll be vp twenty times a night, and

965there will she sit in her smocke, till she haue writ a sheet

966of paper: my daughter tells vs all.

967Clau. Now you talke of a sheet of paper, I remember

968a pretty iest your daughter told vs of.

969Leon. O when she had writ it, & was reading it ouer,

970she found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the sheete.

971Clau. That.

972Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence,

973raild at her self, that she should be so immodest to write,

974to one that shee knew would flout her: I measure him,

975saies she, by my owne spirit, for I should flout him if hee

976writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I should.

977Clau. Then downe vpon her knees she falls, weepes,

978sobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre, praies, curses, O

979sweet Benedicke, God giue me patience.

980Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter saies so, and the

981extasie hath so much ouerborne her, that my daughter is

982somtime afeard she will doe a desperate out-rage to her

983selfe, it is very true.

984Princ. It were good that Benedicke knew of it by some

985other, if she will not discouer it.

986Clau. To what end? he would but make a sport of it,

987and torment the poore Lady worse.

988Prin. And he should, it were an almes to hang him,

989shee's an excellent sweet Lady, and (out of all suspition,)

990she is vertuous.

991Claudio. And she is exceeding wise.

992Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke.

993Leon. O my Lord, wisedome and bloud combating in

994so tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud

995hath the victory, I am sorry for her, as I haue iust cause,

996being her Vncle, and her Guardian.

997Prince. I would shee had bestowed this dotage on

998mee, I would haue daft all other respects, and made her

999halfe my selfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and heare

1000what he will say.

1001Leon. Were it good thinke you?

1002Clau. Hero thinkes surely she wil die, for she saies she

1003will die, if hee loue her not, and shee will die ere shee

1004make her loue knowne, and she will die if hee wooe her,

1005rather than shee will bate one breath of her accustomed

1006crossenesse.

1007Prin. She doth well, if she should make tender of her

Much ado about Nothing. 109

1008loue, 'tis very possible hee'l scorne it, for the man (as you

1009know all) hath a contemptible spirit.

1010Clau. He is a very proper man.

1011Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines.

1012Clau. 'Fore God, and in my minde very wise.

1013Prin. He doth indeed shew some sparkes that are like

1014wit.

1015Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

1016Prin. As Hector, I assure you, and in the managing of

1017quarrels you may see hee is wise, for either hee auoydes

1018them with great discretion, or vndertakes them with a

1019Christian-like feare.

1020Leon. If hee doe feare God, a must necessarilie keepe

1021peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a

1022quarrell with feare and trembling.

1023Prin. And so will he doe, for the man doth fear God,

1024howsoeuer it seemes not in him, by some large ieasts hee

1025will make: well, I am sorry for your niece, shall we goe

1026see Benedicke, and tell him of her loue.

1027Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out

1028with good counsell.

1029Leon. Nay that's impossible, she may weare her heart

1030out first.

1031Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh-

1032ter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and I

1033could wish he would modestly examine himselfe, to see

1034how much he is vnworthy to haue so good a Lady.

1035Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready.

1036Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer

1037trust my expectation.

1038Prin. Let there be the same Net spread for her, and

1039that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry:

1040the sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of ano-

1041thers dotage, and no such matter, that's the Scene that I

1042would see, which will be meerely a dumbe shew: let vs

1043send her to call him into dinner. Exeunt.

1044Bene. This can be no tricke, the conference was sadly

1045borne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they seeme

1046to pittie the Lady: it seemes her affections haue the full

1047bent: loue me? why it must be requited: I heare how I

1048am censur'd, they say I will beare my selfe proudly, if I

1049perceiue the loue come from her: they say too, that she

1050will rather die than giue any signe of affection: I did ne-

1051uer thinke to marry, I must not seeme proud, happy are

1052they that heare their detractions, and can put them to

1053mending: they say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can

1054beare them witnesse: and vertuous, tis so, I cannot re-

1055prooue it, and wise, but for louing me, by my troth it is

1056no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her

1057folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance

1058haue some odde quirkes and remnants of witte broken

1059on mee, because I haue rail'd so long against marriage:

1060but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat in

1061his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips

1062and sentences, and these paper bullets of the braine awe

1063a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world

1064must be peopled. When I said I would die a batcheler, I

1065did not think I should liue till I were maried, here comes

1066Beatrice: by this day, shee's a faire Lady, I doe spie some

1067markes of loue in her.

1069Beat. Against my wil I am sent to bid you come in to

1070dinner.

1071Bene. Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines.

1072Beat. I tooke no more paines for those thankes, then

1073you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I

1074would not haue come.

1075Bene. You take pleasure then in the message.

1076Beat. Yea iust so much as you may take vpon a kniues

1077point, and choake a daw withall: you haue no stomacke

1078signior, fare you well. Exit.

1079Bene. Ha, against my will I am sent to bid you come

1080into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke

1081no more paines for those thankes then you tooke paines

1082to thanke me, that's as much as to say, any paines that I

1083take for you is as easie as thankes: if I do not take pitty

1084of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, I

1085will goe get her picture. Exit.

1088Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour,

1089There shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice,

1090Proposing with the Prince and Claudio,

1091Whisper her eare, and tell her I and Vrsula,

1092Walke in the Orchard, and our whole discourse

1093Is all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs,

1094And bid her steale into the pleached bower,

1095Where hony-suckles ripened by the sunne,

1096Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites,

1097Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,

1098Against that power that bred it, there will she hide her,

1099To listen our purpose, this is thy office,

1100Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone.

1101Marg. Ile make her come I warrant you presently.

1102Hero. Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come,

1103As we do trace this alley vp and downe,

1104Our talke must onely be of Benedicke,

1105When I doe name him, let it be thy part,

1106To praise him more then euer man did merit,

1107My talke to thee must be how Benedicke

1108Is sicke in loue with Beatrice: of this matter,

1109Is little Cupids crafty arrow made,

1110That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin,

1112For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs

1113Close by the ground, to heare our conference.

1114Vrs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish

1115Cut with her golden ores the siluer streame,

1116And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite:

1117So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now,

1118Is couched in the wood-bine couerture,

1119Feare you not my part of the Dialogue.

1120Her. Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing,

1121Of the false sweete baite that we lay for it:

1122No truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull,

1123I know her spirits are as coy and wilde,

1124As Haggerds of the rocke.

1125Vrsula. But are you sure,

1126That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely?

1127Her. So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord.

1128Vrs. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?

1129Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,

1130But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke,

K To

110 Much ado about Nothing.

1131To wish him wrastle with affection,

1132And neuer to let Beatrice know of it.

1133Vrsula. Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman

1134Deserue as full as fortunate a bed,

1135As euer Beatrice shall couch vpon?

1136Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deserue,

1137As much as may be yeelded to a man:

1138But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,

1139Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice:

1140Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes,

1141Mis-prizing what they looke on, and her wit

1142Values it selfe so highly, that to her

1143All matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue,

1144Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection,

1145Shee is so selfe indeared.

1146Vrsula. Sure I thinke so,

1147And therefore certainely it were not good

1148She knew his loue, lest she make sport at it.

1149Hero. Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man,

1150How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd.

1151But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd,

1152She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister:

1153If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke,

1154Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed:

1155If low, an agot very vildlie cut:

1156If speaking, why a vane blowne with all windes:

1157If silent, why a blocke moued with none.

1158So turnes she euery man the wrong side out,

1159And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that

1160Which simplenesse and merit purchaseth.

1161Vrsu. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

1162Hero. No, not to be so odde, and from all fashions,

1163As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable,

1164But who dare tell her so? if I should speake,

1165She would mocke me into ayre, O she would laugh me

1166Out of my selfe, presse me to death with wit,

1167Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire,

1168Consume away in sighes, waste inwardly:

1169It were a better death, to die with mockes,

1170Which is as bad as die with tickling.

1171Vrsu. Yet tell her of it, heare what shee will say.

1172Hero. No, rather I will goe to Benedicke,

1173And counsaile him to fight against his passion,

1174And truly Ile deuise some honest slanders,

1175To staine my cosin with, one doth not know,

1176How much an ill word may impoison liking.

1177Vrsu. O doe not doe your cosin such a wrong,

1178She cannot be so much without true iudgement,

1179Hauing so swift and excellent a wit

1180As she is prisde to haue, as to refuse

1181So rare a Gentleman as signior Benedicke.

1182Hero. He is the onely man of Italy,

1183Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio.

1184Vrsu. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame,

1185Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke,

1186For shape, for bearing argument and valour,

1187Goes formost in report through Italy.

1188Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.

1189Vrsu. His excellence did earne it ere he had it:

1190When are you married Madame?

1191Hero. Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in,

1192Ile shew thee some attires, and haue thy counsell,

1193Which is the best to furnish me to morrow.

1194Vrsu. Shee's tane I warrant you,

1195We haue caught her Madame?

1196Hero. If it proue so, then louing goes by haps,

1197Some Cupid kills with arrowes, some with traps. Exit.

1198Beat. What fire is in mine eares? can this be true?

1199Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorne so much?

1200Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew,

1201No glory liues behinde the backe of such.

1202And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee,

1203Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand:

1204If thou dost loue, my kindenesse shall incite thee

1205To binde our loues vp in a holy band.

1206For others say thou dost deserue, and I

1207Beleeue it better then reportingly. Exit.

1209Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consum-

1210mate, and then go I toward Arragon.

1211Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouch-

1212safe me.

1213Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new

1214glosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat

1215and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with

1216Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his

1217head, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice

1218or thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man

1219dare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,

1220and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,

1221his tongue speakes.

1222Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin.

1223Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder.

1224Claud. I hope he be in loue.

1225Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud

1226in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants

1227money.

1228Bene. I haue the tooth-ach.

1229Prin. Draw it.

1230Bene. Hang it.

1231Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

1232Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach.

1233Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme.

1234Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee

1235that has it.

1236Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue.

1237Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse

1238it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a

1239Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee

1240haue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee

1241is no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare

1242he is.

1243Clau. If he be not in loue vvith some vvoman, there

1244is no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,

1245What should that bode?

1246Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers?

1247Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with

1248him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie

1249stuft tennis balls.

1250Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the

1251losse of a beard.

1252Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe vvith Ciuit, can you smell

1253him out by that?

1254Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in

1255loue.

1256Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

1257Clau. And vvhen vvas he vvont to vvash his face?

1258Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare

1259vvhat they say of him.

1260Clau. Nay, but his iesting spirit, vvhich is now crept

1261into a lute-string, and now gouern'd by stops.

Much ado about Nothing. 111

1262Prin. Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude,

1263he is in loue.

1264Clau. Nay, but I know who loues him.

1265Prince. That would I know too, I warrant one that

1266knowes him not.

1267Cla. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all,

1268dies for him.

1269Prin. Shee shall be buried with her face vpwards.

1270Bene. Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old sig-

1271nior, walke aside with mee, I haue studied eight or nine

1272wise words to speake to you, which these hobby-horses

1273must not heare.

1274Prin. For my life to breake with him about Beatrice.

1275Clau. 'Tis euen so, Hero and Margaret haue by this

1276played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beares

1277will not bite one another when they meete.

1279Bast. My Lord and brother, God saue you.

1280Prin. Good den brother.

1281Bast. If your leisure seru'd, I would speake with you.

1282Prince. In priuate?

1283Bast. If it please you, yet Count Claudio may heare,

1284for what I would speake of, concernes him.

1285Prin. What's the matter?

1286Basta. Meanes your Lordship to be married to mor-

1287row?

1288Prin. You know he does.

1289Bast. I know not that when he knowes what I know.

1290Clau. If there be any impediment, I pray you disco-

1291uer it.

1292Bast. You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare

1293hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will ma-

1294nifest, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in

1295dearenesse of heart) hath holpe to effect your ensuing

1296marriage: surely sute ill spent, and labour ill bestowed.

1297Prin. Why, what's the matter?

1298Bastard. I came hither to tell you, and circumstances

1299shortned, (for she hath beene too long a talking of) the

1300Lady is disloyall.

1301Clau. Who Hero?

1302Bast. Euen shee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euery

1303mans Hero.

1304Clau. Disloyall?

1305Bast. The word is too good to paint out her wicked-

1306nesse, I could say she were worse, thinke you of a worse

1307title, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further war-

1308rant: goe but with mee to night, you shal see her cham-

1309ber window entred, euen the night before her wedding

1310day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But it

1311would better fit your honour to change your minde.

1312Claud. May this be so?

1313Princ. I will not thinke it.

1314Bast. If you dare not trust that you see, confesse not

1315that you know: if you will follow mee, I will shew you

1316enough, and when you haue seene more, & heard more,

1317proceed accordingly.

1318Clau. If I see any thing to night, why I should not

1319marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I shold

1320wedde, there will I shame her.

1321Prin. And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will

1322ioyne with thee to disgrace her.

1323Bast. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my

1324witnesses, beare it coldly but till night, and let the issue

1325shew it selfe.

1326Prin. O day vntowardly turned!

1327Claud. O mischiefe strangelie thwarting!

1328Bastard. O plague right well preuented! so will you

1329say, when you haue seene the sequele. Exit.

1331Dog. Are you good men and true?

1332Verg. Yea, or else it were pitty but they should suffer

1333saluation body and soule.

1334Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for

1335them, if they should haue any allegiance in them, being

1336chosen for the Princes watch.

1337Verges. Well, giue them their charge, neighbour

1338Dogbery.

1339Dog. First, who thinke you the most desartlesse man

1340to be Constable?

1341Watch. 1. Hugh Ote-cake sir, or George Sea-coale, for

1342they can write and reade.

1343Dogb. Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hath

1344blest you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man,

1345is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by

1346Nature.

1347Watch 2. Both which Master Constable

1348Dogb. You haue: I knew it would be your answere:

1349well, for your fauour sir, why giue God thankes, & make

1350no boast of it, and for your writing and reading, let that

1351appeare when there is no need of such vanity, you are

1352thought heere to be the most senslesse and fit man for the

1353Constable of the watch: therefore beare you the lan-

1354thorne: this is your charge: You shall comprehend all

1355vagrom men, you are to bid any man stand in the Prin-

1356ces name.

1357Watch 2. How if a will not stand?

1358Dogb. Why then take no note of him, but let him go,

1359and presently call the rest of the Watch together, and

1360thanke God you are ridde of a knaue.

1361Verges. If he will not stand when he is bidden, hee is

1362none of the Princes subiects.

1363Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but

1364the Princes subiects: you shall also make no noise in the

1365streetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is most

1366tollerable, and not to be indured.

1367Watch. We will rather sleepe than talke, wee know

1368what belongs to a Watch.

1369Dog. Why you speake like an ancient and most quiet

1370watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend:

1371only haue a care that your bills be not stolne: well, you

1372are to call at all the Alehouses, and bid them that are

1373drunke get them to bed.

1374Watch. How if they will not?

1375Dogb. Why then let them alone till they are sober, if

1376they make you not then the better answere, you may say,

1377they are not the men you tooke them for.

1378Watch. Well sir.

1379Dogb. If you meet a theefe, you may suspect him, by

1380vertue of your office, to be no true man: and for such

1381kinde of men, the lesse you meddle or make with them,

1382why the more is for your honesty.

1383Watch. If wee know him to be a thiefe, shall wee not

1384lay hands on him.

1385Dogb. Truly by your office you may, but I think they

1386that touch pitch will be defil'd: the most peaceable way

1387for you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him shew him-

1388selfe what he is, and steale out of your company.

1389Ver. You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful mã partner.

1390Dog. Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much

1391more a man who hath anie honestie in him.

K2 Verges.

112 Much ado about Nothing.

1392Verges. If you heare a child crie in the night you must

1393call to the nurse, and bid her still it.

1394Watch. How if the nurse be asleepe and will not

1395heare vs?

1396Dog. Why then depart in peace, and let the childe

1397wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare

1398her Lambe when it baes, will neuer answere a calfe when

1399he bleates.

1400Verges. 'Tis verie true.

1401Dog. This is the end of the charge: you constable

1402are to present the Princes owne person, if you meete the

1403Prince in the night, you may staie him.

1404Verges. Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot.

1405Dog. Fiue shillings to one on't with anie man that

1406knowes the Statutes, he may staie him, marrie not with-

1407out the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought to

1408offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against

1409his will.

1410Verges. Birladie I thinke it be so.

1411Dog. Ha, ah ha, well masters good night, and there be

1412anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your

1413fellowes counsailes, and your owne, and good night,

1414come neighbour.

1415Watch. Well masters, we heare our charge, let vs go

1416sit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to

1417bed.

1418Dog. One word more, honest neighbors. I pray you

1419watch about signior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding be-

1420ing there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night,

1421adiew, be vigitant I beseech you. Exeunt.

1423Bor. What, Conrade?

1424Watch. Peace, stir not.

1425Bor. Conrade I say.

1426Con. Here man, I am at thy elbow.

1427Bor. Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there would

1428a scabbe follow.

1429Con. I will owe thee an answere for that, and now

1430forward with thy tale.

1431Bor. Stand thee close then vnder this penthouse, for it

1432drissels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all to

1433thee.

1434Watch. Some treason masters, yet stand close.

1435Bor. Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn a

1436thousand Ducates.

1437Con. Is it possible that anie villanie should be so deare?

1438Bor. Thou should'st rather aske if it were possible a-

1439nie villanie should be so rich? for when rich villains haue

1440neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price

1441they will.

1442Con. I wonder at it.

1443Bor. That shewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knowest

1444that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is no-

1445thing to a man.

1446Con. Yes, it is apparell.

1447Bor. I meane the fashion.

1448Con. Yes the fashion is the fashion.

1449Bor. Tush, I may as well say the foole's the foole, but

1450seest thou not what a deformed theefe this fashion is?

1451Watch. I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe,

1452this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man:

1453I remember his name.

1454Bor. Did'st thou not heare some bodie?

1455Con. No, 'twas the vaine on the house.

1456Bor. Seest thou not (I say) what a deformed thiefe

1457this fashion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hot-

1458blouds, betweene foureteene & fiue & thirtie, sometimes

1459fashioning them like Pharaoes souldiours in the rechie

1460painting, sometime like god Bels priests in the old

1461Church window, sometime like the shauen Hercules in

1462the smircht worm eaten tapestrie, where his cod-peece

1463seemes as massie as his club.

1464Con. All this I see, and see that the fashion weares out

1465more apparrell then the man; but art not thou thy selfe

1466giddie with the fashion too that thou hast shifted out of

1467thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

1468Bor. Not so neither, but know that I haue to night

1469wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the

1470name of Hero, she leanes me out at her mistris chamber-

1471vvindow, bids me a thousand times good night: I tell

1472this tale vildly. I should first tell thee how the Prince

1473Claudio and my Master planted, and placed, and possessed

1474by my Master Don Iohn, saw a far off in the Orchard this

1475amiable incounter.

1476Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero?

1477Bor. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the

1478diuell my Master knew she was Margaret and partly by

1479his oathes, which first possest them, partly by the darke

1480night which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villa-

1481nie, which did confirme any slander that Don Iohn had

1482made, away vvent Claudio enraged, swore hee vvould

1483meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Tem-

1484ple, and there, before the whole congregation shame her

1485with vvhat he saw o're night, and send her home againe

1486vvithout a husband.

1487Watch. 1. We charge you in the Princes name stand.

1488Watch. 2. Call vp the right master Constable, vve haue

1489here recouered the most dangerouspeece of lechery, that

1490euer vvas knowne in the Common-wealth.

1491Watch. 1. And one Deformed is one of them, I know

1492him, a vveares a locke.

1493Conr. Masters, masters.

1494Watch. 2. Youle be made bring deformed forth I war-

1495rant you,

1496Conr. Masters, neuer speake, vve charge you, let vs o-

1497bey you to goe vvith vs.

1498Bor. We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, be-

1499ing taken vp of these mens bils.

1500Conr. A commoditie in question I warrant you, come

1501vveele obey you. Exeunt.

1503Hero. Good Vrsula wake my cosin Beatrice, and de-

1504sire her to rise.

1505Vrsu. I will Lady.

1506Her. And bid her come hither.

1507Vrs. Well.

1508Mar. Troth I thinke your other rebato were better.

1509Bero. No pray thee good Meg, Ile vveare this.

1510Marg. By my troth's not so good, and I vvarrant your

1511cosin vvill say so.

1512Bero. My cosin's a foole, and thou art another, ile

1513vveare none but this.

1514Mar. I like the new tire vvithin excellently, if the

1515haire vvere a thought browner: and your gown's a most

1516rare fashion yfaith, I saw the Dutchesse of Millaines

1517gowne that they praise so.

1518Bero. O that exceedes they say.

1519Mar. By my troth's but a night-gowne in respect of

1520yours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd withsiluer, set with

1521pearles, downe sleeues, side sleeues, and skirts, round vn-

1522derborn with a blewish tinsel, but for a fine queint grace-

1523full and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

Much ado about Nothing 113

1524Hero. God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is

1525exceeding heauy.

1526Marga. 'Twill be heauier soone, by the waight of a

1527man.

1528Hero. Fie vpon thee, art not asham'd?

1529Marg. Of what Lady? of speaking honourably? is

1530not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord

1531honourable without marriage? I thinke you would haue

1532me say, sauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thin-

1533king doe not wrest true speaking, Ile offend no body, is

1534there any harme in the heauier for a husband? none I

1535thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife,

1536otherwise 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice

1537else, here she comes.

1539Hero. Good morrow Coze.

1540Beat. Good morrow sweet Hero.

1541Hero. Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune?

1542Beat. I am out of all other tune, me thinkes.

1543Mar. Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a

1544burden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it.

1545Beat. Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your

1546husband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lacke

1547no barnes.

1548Mar. O illegitimate construction! I scorne that with

1549my heeles.

1550Beat. 'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time you

1551were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho.

1552Mar. For a hauke, a horse, or a husband?

1553Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

1554Mar. Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no

1555more sayling by the starre.

1556Beat. What meanes the foole trow?

1557Mar. Nothing I, but God send euery one their harts

1558desire.

1559Hero. These gloues the Count sent mee, they are an

1560excellent perfume.

1561Beat. I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell.

1562Mar. A maid and stuft! there's goodly catching of

1563colde.

1564Beat. O God helpe me, God help me, how long haue

1565you profest apprehension?

1566Mar. Euer since you left it, doth not my wit become

1567me rarely?

1568Beat. It is not seene enough, you should weare it in

1569your cap, by my troth I am sicke.

1570Mar. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus

1571and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm.

1572Hero. There thou prickst her with a thissell.

1573Beat. Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue some mo-

1574rall in this benedictus.

1575Mar. Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall mea-

1576ning, I meant plaine holy thissell, you may thinke per-

1577chance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not

1578such a foole to thinke what I list, nor I list not to thinke

1579what I can, nor indeed I cannot thinke, if I would thinke

1580my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you

1581will be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke

1582was such another, and now is he become a man, he swore

1583hee would neuer marry, and yet now in despight of his

1584heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you

1585may be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you looke

1586with your eies as other women doe.

1587Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keepes.

1588Mar. Not a false gallop.

1590Vrsula. Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, sig-

1591nior Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of the

1592towne are come to fetch you to Church.

1593Hero. Helpe to dresse mee good coze, good Meg,

1594good Vrsula.

1596Leonato. What would you with mee, honest neigh-

1597bour?

1598Const. Dog. Mary sir I would haue some confidence

1599with you, that decernes you nearely.

1600Leon. Briefe I pray you, for you see it is a busie time

1601with me.

1602Const. Dog. Mary this it is sir.

1603Headb. Yes in truth it is sir.

1604Leon. What is it my good friends?

1605Con. Do. Goodman Verges sir speakes a little of the

1606matter, an old man sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as

1607God helpe I would desire they were, but infaith honest

1608as the skin betweene his browes.

1609Head. Yes I thank God, I am as honest as any man li-

1610uing, that is an old man, and no honester then I.

1611Con. Dog. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neigh-

1612bour Verges.

1613Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

1614Con. Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are

1615the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part,

1616if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to

1617bestow it all of your worship.

1618Leon. All thy tediousnesse on me, ah?

1619Const.Dog. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more

1620than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Wor-

1621ship as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a

1622poore man, I am glad to heare it.

1623Head. And so am I.

1624Leon. I would faine know what you haue to say.

1625Head. Marry sir our watch to night, excepting your

1626worships presence, haue tane a couple of as arrant

1627knaues as any in Messina.

1628Con. Dog. A good old man sir, hee will be talking as

1629they say, when the age is in the wit is out, God helpe vs,

1630it is a world to see: well said yfaith neighbour Verges,

1631well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horse,

1632one must ride behinde, an honest soule yfaith sir, by my

1633troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee wor-

1634shipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour.

1635Leon. Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you.

1636Con. Do. Gifts that God giues.

1637Leon. I must leaue you.

1638Con. Dog. One word sir, our watch sir haue indeede

1639comprehended two aspitious persons, & we would haue

1640them this morning examined before your worship.

1641Leon. Take their examination your selfe, and bring it

1642me, I am now in great haste, as may appeare vnto you.

1643Const. It shall be suffigance. (Exit.

1644Leon. Drinke some wine ere you goe: fare you well.

1645Messenger. My Lord, they stay for you to giue your

1646daughter to her husband.

1647Leon. Ile wait vpon them, I am ready.

1648Dogb. Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Sea-

1649coale, bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole:

1650we are now to examine those men.

1651Verges. And we must doe it wisely.

1652Dogb. Wee will spare for no witte I warrant you: