Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit.

Claud. Faith, like enough.

Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was never coun

terfeit of paffion came so near the life of paffion, as she discovers it.

Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shews she? Claud. Bait the hook well, this fish will bite.

[Afide.

Leon. What effects, my lord? she will fit you, you heard my daughter tell you how.

Claud. She did, indeed.

Pedro. How, how, I pray you? you amaze me: I would have thought, her spirit had been invincible against all affaults of affection.

Leon. I would have sworn, it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.

Bene. [Afide.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, fure, hide himself in such reverence.

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection, hold it up.

[Afide. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?

Leon. No, and swears she never will; that's her

torment.

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed, so your daughter says: shall I, fays the, that have so oft encounter'd him with fcorn, write to him that I love him?

Leon. This says the now, when the is beginning to write to him; for she'll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smock, 'till she have writ a sheet of paper; my daughter tells us all.

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jeft your daughter told us of.

Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet.

Claud. That

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Leon, O, she tore the letter into a thousand half-pence; rail'd at her felf, that she should be fo immodest, to write to one that, she knew, wou'd flout her: I measure him, says the, by my own Spirit, for I should flout him if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.

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Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, fobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; O fweet Benedick! God give me patience!

Leon. She doth, indeed, my daughter says fo; and the ecftafie hath so much overborn her, that my daughter is sometime afraid, the will do defperate outrage to her self; it is very true.

60, the tore the Letter into a thousand half-pence;] i. e. into a thousand pieces of the fame bigness. This is farther explain'd by a Paffage in As you like it;

-There were none principal; they were all like one another as half-pence are.

In both places the Poet alludes to the old Silver Penny which had a Crease running Cross-wife over it, so that it might be broke into two or four equal pieces, half-pence, or farthings.

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Mr. Theobald.

Pedro.

:

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:

Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it.

Claud. To what end? he would but make a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

Pedro. If he should, it were an Alms to hang him; she's an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all fufpicion) she is virtuous.

Claud. And she is exceeding wife.

Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory; I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.

Pedro. I would, she had bestow'd this dotage on me; I would have dafft all other respects, and made her half my self; I pray you, tell Benedick of it; and hear what he will say.

Leon. Were it good, think you?

Claud. Hero thinks, surely she will die; for she says, she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known; and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustom'd crofsness.

Pedro. She doth well; if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible, he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man.

Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness.
Claud. 'Fore God, and, in my mind, very wife.

Pedro. He doth, indeed, shew some sparks that are like wit.

Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

Pedro. As Hector, I assure you; and in the managing of quarrels you may fay he is wife; for either he avoids them with great difcretion, or undertakes them with a christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace; peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.

Pedro. And fo will he do, "for the man doth fear " God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large " jests he will make." Well, I am forry for your Neice: shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel.

Leon. Nay, that's impossible, she may wear her heart out first.

Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could with he would modestly examine himself, to fee how much he is unworthy to have fo good a lady.

Leon. My Lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. [Afide.

Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry; the sport will be, when they hold an opinion of one another's dotage, and no such matter; that's the Scene that I would fee, which will be meerly a Dumb Show, let us send her to call him to dinner. [Afide.] [Exeunt.

SCENEX.

Benedick advances from the Arbour.

Bene. " This can be no trick, the conference was " fadly borne; they have the truth of this from Hero; " they seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections " have the full bent. Love me! why, it must be " requited: I hear, how I am censur'd; they say, I " will bear my felf proudly, if I perceive the love

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" come

"come from her; they say too, that she will rather " die than give any fign of affection. - I did never " think to marry-I must not feem proud-hap

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py are they that hear their detractions, and can put " them to mending: they say, the lady is fair; 'tis " a truth, I can bear them witness: and virtuous;"'tis so, I cannot reprove it: and wife, but for loving "me-by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, " nor no great argument of her folly; for I will be " horribly in love with her. I may chance to " have fome odd quirks and remnants of wit broken " on me, because I have rail'd so long against mar"riage; but doth not the appetite alter? a man loves "the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his

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age. Shall quipps and fentences, and these paper" bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of " his humour? no: the world must be peopled. " When I faid, I would die a batchelor, I did not " think I should live 'till I were marry'd. Here " comes Beatrice: by this day, she's a fair lady; I do "spy fome marks of love in her."

Enter Beatrice.

Beat. Against my will, I am fent to bid you come in to dinner.

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful, I would not have come.

Bene. You take pleasure then in the message. Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choak a daw withal: you have no stomach, Signior; fare you well. [Exit.

Bene. Ha! against my will I am fent to bid you come in to dinner: there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me;-that's as much as to say, any pains