Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

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

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

Friar. Paufe a while;

And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;
Let her a while be fecretly kept in,

And publish it that she is dead indeed :
Maintain a mourning oftentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites.

That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf

Change slander to remorse; that is some good:

But not for that dream I on this ftrange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth:
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the inftant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: for it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd, and loft,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not show us
Whilft it was ours: fo will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear the dy'd upon his words,

Th' idea

Th’idea of her love shall sweetly creep

Into his study of imagination;

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit,

More moving, delicate, and full of life,

Into the eye and profpect of his foul,

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

And wish he had not fo accused her;

No, though he thought his accufation true.

Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefs
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd falfe,
The fuppofition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy :
And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As best befits her wounded reputation,
In some reclufive and religious life,

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though you know my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As fecretly, and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I flow

In grief, alas! the smallest twine may lead me.
Friar. 'Tis well confented; presently away;

For to strange fores, ftrangely they ftrain the cure.

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

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

"

\ [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Manent Benedick and Beatrice.

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ?
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

Bene. I will not defire that.

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

Bene. Surely, I do believe, your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show fuch friendship?

Beat. A very even way, but no fuch friend.

Bene. May a man do it?

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

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

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

Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'st me.

Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will fwear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that fays, I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I protest, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, god forgive me!

Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice?

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

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

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

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

Beat.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Bene. You kill me to deny; farewel.
Bene. Tarry, fweet Beatrice.

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

Bene. Beatrice!

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

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

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, dishonour'd my kinfwoman? that I were

o,

a man! what, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then with publick accufation, uncover'd flander, unmitigated rancour―o god, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window? - a proper faying! Bene. Nay but, Beatrice.

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

Bene. But

Beat. Princes, and counts! furely, a princely teftimony, a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, furely! o that I were a man for his fake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake l but manhood is melted into courtefies, valour into compliment; and men are only turn'd into tongues, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and fwears it: I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand, I love thee. Beat. Ufe it for my love fome other way than fwearing by it. Bene. Think you in your foul the count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?

Beat.

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

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

Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the Town-Clerk and Sexton in gowns.

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

Dogb. O, a ftool and cushion for the fexton!

Sexton. Which be the malefactors?

Verg. Marry, that am I and my partner.

Dogb. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before mafter conftable.

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

Bora. Borachio.

To. Cl. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, firrah? Conr. I am a gentleman, fir, and my name is Conrade. To. Cl. Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you ferve god?

Both. Yea, fir, we hope.

To. Cl. Write down, that they hope they ferve god: and write, god, first; for god defend, but god fhould go before fuch villains! -Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought fo fhortly; how anfwer you for yourselves?

Conr. Marry, fir, we say, we are none.

To. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow, I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, firrah, a word in your ear,