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too. Come, talk not of her, you shall find her the infernal Até in good apparel. I would to God, fome fcholar would conjure her; for, certainly, while fhe is here a man may live as quiet in hell as in a fanctuary, and people fin upon purpose, because they would go thither; fo, indeed, all difquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her.

SCENE V.

Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato and Hero.

Pedro. Look, here fhe comes.

Bene. Will your Grace command me any fervice to the world's end? I will go on the flighteft errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the fartheft inch of Afa; bring you the length of Prefter John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any ambaffage to the pigmies, rather than hold three words conference with this harpy; you have no employment for me?

Pedro. None, but to defire your good company. Bene. O God, Sir, here's a difh I love not. I cannot indure this Lady Tongue.

Pedro. Come, Lady, come; you have loft the heart of Signior Benedick.

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Beat. Indeed, my Lord, he lent it me a while, and gave him ufe for it, a double heart for a fingle one; marry, once before he won it of me with falfe dice, therefore your Grace Grace may well fay, I have loft it.

Pedro. You have put him down, Lady, you have put him down.

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

9 the infernal Até in good apparel.] This is a pleafant allufion to the custom of ancient poets and painters, who represent the furies in raggs.

left

left I should prove the mother of fools: I have brought Count Claudio, whom you fent me to feek.

Pedro. Why, how now, Count, wherefore are you fad?

Claud. Not fad, my Lord.
Pedro. How then? fick?
Claud. Neither, my Lord.

Beat. The Count is neither fad, nor fick, nor merry, nor well, but civil, Count, civil as an orange, and fomething of that jealous complexion.

Pedro. I'faith, Lady, I think your blazon to be true; though I'll be fworn, if he be fo, his conceit is falfe. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained; name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy.

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his Grace hath made the match, and all grace fay, Amen, to it.

Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.

Claud. Silence is the perfecteft herald of joy; I were but little happy, if I could fay how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away my felf for you, and doat upon the exchange.

Beat. Speak, Coufin, or (if you cannot) ftop his mouth with a kifs, and let him not speak neither. Pedro. In faith, Lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my Lord, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy fide of care; my coufin tells him in his ear, that he is in her heart.

Claud. And fo fhe doth, coufin.

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am fun-burn'd; I may fit in a corner, and cry heigh bo! for a husband. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Beat. I would rather have one of your Father's getting hath your Grace ne'er a brother like you?

your

your Father got excellent Husbands, if a maid could come by them.

Pedro. Will you have me, Lady?

Beat. No, my Lord, unless I might have another for working-days; your Grace is too coftly to wear every day but I befeech your Grace, pardon me, I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.

Pedro. Your filence moft offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, fure, my Lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a ftar danc'd, and under that I was born. Coufins, God give you joy.

Leon. Neice, will you look to those things I told you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, Uncle: by your Grace's pardon.

SCENE

[Exit Beatrice,

VI.

Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-fpirited Lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my Lord; fhe is never fad but when the fleeps, and not ever fad then; for I have heard my daughter fay, fhe hath often dream'd of an unhappiness, and wak'd her felf with laughing.

Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a huf band.

Leon. O, by no means, the mocks all her wooers out of fuit.

Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

1 fhe bath often dream'd of unhappiness,] So all the editions ; but Mr. Theobald's alters it to, an happiness, having no conception that unhappiness meant any thing but misfortune, and that he thinks fhe could not laugh at. He had never heard that it fignified a wild, wanton, unlucky trick. Thus Beaumont and Fletcher in their comedy of the Maid of the Mill.

My dreams are like my thoughts honeft and innocent: Yours are unhappy.

Leon.

Leon. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a week marry'd, they would talk themselves mad. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?

Claud. To morrow, my Lord; time goes on crutches, 'till love have all his rites.

Leon. Not 'till Monday, my dear fon, which is hence a juft feven-night, and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.

Pedro. Come, you shake the head at fo long a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time fhall not go dully by us. I will in the Interim undertake one of Hercules's labours, which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other; I would fain have it a match, and I doubt not to fashion it, if you three will but minifter fuch affiftance as I fhall give you direction.

Leon. My Lord, I am for you, though it coft me ten nights watchings.

Claud. And I, my Lord.

Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?

Hero. I will do any modeft office, my Lord, to help my Coufin to a good husband.

Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefulleft hufband that I know: thus far I can praise him, he is of a noble strain, of approv'd valour, and confirm'd honesty. I will teach you how to humour your Coufin, that the fhall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps, will fo practife on Benedick, that in defpight of his quick wit, and his queafie ftomach, he fhall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer, his glory fhall be ours, for we are the only Love-Gods; go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt,

SCENE

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Changes to another Apartment in Leonato's House.

Enter Don John and Borachio.

John. IT is fo, the Count Claudio fhall marry the Daughter of Leonato.

Bora. Yea, my Lord, but I can cross it.

John. Any bar, any crofs, any impediment will be medicinable to me; I am fick in difpleafure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canft thou cross this marriage?

Bora. Not honeftly, my Lord, but fo covertly that no difhonefty fhall appear in me.

John. Shew me briefly how.

Bora. I think, I told your lordship a year fince, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero.

John. I remember.

Bora. I can, at any unfeasonable inftant of the night, appoint her to look out at her Lady's chamberwindow.

John. What life is in That, to be the death of this marriage?

Bora. The poifon of That lyes in you to temper; go you to the Prince your brother, fpare not to tell him, that he hath wrong'd his Honour in marrying the renown'd Claudio, (whofe eftimation do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated Stale, fuch a one as Hero. John. What proof fhall I make of That?

Bora. Proof enough to mifufe the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato look you for any other iffue?

John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.

Bora.

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