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I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Bene. And therefore will come.
The god of love,

That sits above,

[Singing.]

And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,-

Leon. To-inorrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I 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.
I mean, in singing; but in loving,-Leander the
Bora.
No, by my soul, she was not; good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan-
Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car-
But always hath been just and virtuous,
pet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
even road of a blank verse, why, they were never
In any thing that I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not un- so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in der white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offen-love: Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have der, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be re-tried; I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an membered in his punishment: and also, the watch innocent thyme; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme; heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he for school, fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; endings: No, I was not born under a rhyming and borrows money in God's name; the which he planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.2 hath used so long, and never paid, that now_men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called sake: pray you, examine him upon that point.

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy pains.

Dogb. God save the foundation!

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.

thee?

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene. O, stay but till then!

Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now:and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio.

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon, I will

Dugb. I leave an arrant knave with your wor-kiss thee. ship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind yourself, for the example of others. God keep your is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; worship; I wish your worship well; God restore therefore I will depart unkissed.

you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his and if a merry meeting may be wished, God proli- right sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell bit it.-Come, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

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 11-Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit which of my good parts did you first suffer love any good part to intermingle with them. But for

for me?

Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor heart! If you spite it for my sake; I will spite it Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de-for yours; for I will never love that which my serve 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.

friend hates.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours: if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you?

Bene. Question?-Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore, it is most expe Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not dient for the wise (if Don Worm, his conscience, hurt a woman; and so I pray thee, call Beatrice: find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the I give thee the bucklers.

trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of much for praising myself (who, I myself will bear

our own.

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witness, is praiseworthy,) and now tell me, How doth your cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there

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will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter Ursula.

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home: it is proved my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone will you come presently?

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enfore'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves;
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd:
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me :-You know your office, brother;
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies.
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
Friar. To do what, signior?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.SCENE III-The inside of a church. Enter Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Don Pedro, Claudio, and attendants with music Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. and tapers.

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Heavily, heavily.

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!

Yearly will I do this rite.

torches out:

D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put

your

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most

true.

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Enter Don Pedro and Claudio with attendants.

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good moriow,
Claudio;

We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar
[Exit Antonio.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's
the matter,

ready.

That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;

The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gen-As once Europa did at lusty Jove,

tle day,

Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray: Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well. Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several

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When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bul! leap'd your father's

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D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my concluLeon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander sion.-For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have liv'd.

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Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then, you do not
love me?

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the
gentleman.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves
her;

For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero.

And here's another, Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick.

beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou would'st have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends :-let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, music.-Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'cn in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll de vise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers. [Dance. [Exeunt.

This play may be justly said to contain two of the most sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, the humourist, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined in Benedick. It is to be lamented, indeed, that the first and most splendid of these distinctions, is disgraced by unneces sary profaneness; for the goodness of his heart is hardly sufficient to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic levity, which flashes out Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against in the conversation of Beatrice, may be excused our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by this on account of the steadiness and friendship so aplight, I take thee for pity. parent in her behaviour, when she urges her lover Beat. I would not deny you ;-but, by this good to risk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to conduct of the fable, however, there is an impersave your life, for I was told you were in a consump-fection similar to that which Dr. Johnson has pointed out in The Merry Wives of Windsor-the second contrivance is less ingenious than the first :[Kissing her. or, to speak more plainly, the same incident is beD. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married come stale by repetition. I wish some other method man? had been found to entrap Beatrice, than that very Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-one which before had been successfully practised on crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: dost Benedick.

tion.

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.

thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram; No: Much Ado About Nothing (as I understand if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear from one of Mr. Vertue's MSS.) formerly passed nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do under the title of Benedick and Beatrix. Heming propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur- the player received, on the 20th of May, 1613, the pose that the world can say against it; and there- sum of forty pounds, and twenty pounds more as fore never flout at me for what I have said against his majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six plays at Hampton Court, among which was this comedy. (1) Because. STEEVENS.

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SCENE I.-Athens.

ACT I.

Other faries attending their king and queen.
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.
Scene, Athens, and a wood not far from it.

And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, A room in the palace of With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philos- And stol'n the impression of her fantasy trate, and attendants. With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers, Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth: With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, To stubborn harshness :-and, my gracious duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius,

Theseus.

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager
Long withering out a young man's revenue.
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves
nights;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

in

The.
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
[Exit Philostrate.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph,' and with revelling.
Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius.
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!
The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news
with thee?

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.-
Stand forth, Demetrius; My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her:-
Stand forth, Lysander ;-and, my gracious duke,
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child:
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
(1) Shows.

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens;
As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
Which shall be either to this gentleman,
Or to her death; according to our law,
Immediately provided in that case.

The. What say yo, Hermia? be advis'd, fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or distigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
Her. So is Lysander.

The.
In himself he is:
But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
The other must be held the worthier.

I

Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes.
The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment

look.

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
know not by what power I ain made bold;
Nor how it may concern my modesty,
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts:
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befal me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,

(2) Baubles.

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