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Dogb. Why, then depart in Peace, and let the child wake her with crying for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never anfwer a calf when he bleats.

Verg. 'Tis very true.

Dogb. This is the end of the Charge: you, constable, are to prefent the Prince's own perfon; if you meet the Prince in the night, you may flay him.

Verg. Nay, birlady, that, I think, he cannot.

Dogb. Five fhillings to one on't with any man that knows the Statues, he may ftay him; marry, not without the Prince be willing: for, indeed, the Watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to ftay a man against his will.

Verg. Birlady, I think, it be fo.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! well, mafters, good night an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me; keep your fellow's counfels and your own, and good night; come, neighbour.

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2 Watch. Well, mafters, we hear our charge; let us go fit here upon the church-bench 'till two, and then all to bed.

Dogb. One word more, honeft neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the Wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coil to night; adieu; be vigilant, I befeech you.

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges,

Enter Borachio and Conrade.

Bora. What? Conrade.

Watch. Peace, stir not.

Bora. Conrade, I fay.

Conr. Here, Man, I am at thy elbow.

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Bora. Mafs, and my elbow itch'd, I thought there

would a fcab follow.

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Conr. I will owe thee an answer for that, and now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee clofe then under this pent house, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.

Watch.

Watch. Some Treason, mafters; yet stand close.

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats.

Conr. Is it poffible that any Villany fhould be fo dear?

Bora. Thou fhould'ft rather ask, if it were poffible any villany fhould be so rich? for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.

Conr. I wonder at it.

Bora. That fhews, thou art unconfirm'd; thou know. eft, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man: •

Conr. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean the fashion.

Conr. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tuh, I may as well fay, the fool's the Fool; but fee'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion is?

Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief these seven years; he goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his name.

Bora. Didft thou not hear fome body?

Conr. No, 'twas the vane on the house.

Bora. Seeft thou not, I fay, what a deformed thief this fashion is how giddily he turns about all the hotbloods between fourteen and five and thirty; fometimes, fashioning them like Pharoah's foldiers in the reachy Painting; fometimes, like the God Bel's priefts in the old church-window; fometimes, like the fhaven Hercules in the fmirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece feems as maffie as his club.

that the fashion wears but art not thou thy that thou haft fhifted

Conr. All this I fee, and fee, out more apparel than the man; felf giddy with the fashion too, out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?

Bora. Not fo neither; but know, that I have to night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's Gentlewoman, by the name of Hero; the leans me out at her mistress's chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night

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I tell this tale vildly · - I fhould first tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my mafter, planted and placed, and poffeffed by my mafter Don John, faw a far off in the orchard this amiable encounter.

Conr. And thought they, Margaret was Hero?

Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my mafter knew he was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which firft poffeft them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any flander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; fwore, he would meet her as he was appointed next morning at the Temple, and there before the whole Congregation fhame her with what he faw o'er night, and send her home again without a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name, ftand. 2 Watch. Call up the right mafter conftable; we have here recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

I Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock.

Conr. Mafters, masters,

(12)

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I

warrant you.

Conr. Mafters,

1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly Commodity, being taken up of thefe mens bills.

(12) Conr. Mafters, mafters,

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Conr. Mafters, newer speak, we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.] The different Regulation which I have made in this laft Speech, tho' against the Authority of all the printed Copies, I flatter myself, carries its Proof with it. Conrade and Borachio are not defign'd to talk abfurd Nonfenfe [that is the distinguishing Characteristick of the Conftable and Watch.] It is E evident therefore, that Conrade is attempting his own Juftification; but is interrupted in it by the Impertinence of the Men in Office.

VOL. II.

Conr.

Conr. A commodity in queftion, I warrant you: come, we'll obey you.

[Exeunt. SCENE, Hero's Apartment in Leonato's House.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Urfula.

Hero. GOOD Urfula, wake my coufin Beatrice, and

defire her to rife.

Urfu. I will, lady.

Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urfu. Well.

Marg. Troth, I think, your other Rebato were better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

Marg. By my troth, it's not fo good; and I warrant, your coufin will fay fo.

Hero. My coufin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll ear none but this.

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a moft rare fashion, i' faith. I faw the Dutchefs of Milan's gown, that they praise fo.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they fay.

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in refpect of yours; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with filver, fet with pearls down-fleeves, fide-fleeves and skirts, round underborne with a blueifh tinfel; but for a fine, queint, graceful and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy.

Mar. Twill be heavier foon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee, art not asham'd?

Marg. Of what, lady? of fpeaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me fay (faving your reverence) a husband. If bad thinking do not wreft true fpeaking, I'll offend no body; is there any harm in the heavier for a Husband? none, I think, if it be the right Husband, and the right wife, otherwife 'tis light and not heavy; ask my lady Beatrice elfe, here fhe comes.

Enter

Enter Beatrice.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.

Beat. Good morrow, fweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the fick tune?

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into Light o' Love; that goes without a burden; do you fing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels; then if your husband have ftables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns.

Marg. O illegitimate conftruction! I fcorn that with my heels.

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, coufin; 'tis time you were ready by my troth, I am exceeding ill; hey ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.

Marg. Well, if you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more failing by the ftar.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?

Marg. Nothing I, but God fend every one their heart's defire!

Hero. These gloves the count fent me, they are an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am ftufft, coufin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and stufft! there's goodly catching of

cold.

Beat. O, God help me, God help me, how long have you profest apprehenfion?

Marg. Ever fince you left it; doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. It is not feen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am fick.

Marg. Get you

fome of this diftill'd Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualın.

Hero. There thou prick'ft her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedictus? why Benedictus? you have fome

moral in this Benedictus.

C 2

Marg.

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