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terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it.
Pedro. Why, what effects of paflion shews fhe ?
.[4fide. Leon. What effects, my Lord? she will fit you, you heard my daughter tell you how.
Cland She did, indeed
Pedro. How, how, I pray you? you amaze me: I would have thought her fpirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.
Leon. I would have sworn it had, my Lord; efpecially again it Benedick
Bene. [-Aide ] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot sure hide himself in such reverence, Claud. He hath ta'en th' infe&tion, hold it up.
[-4fide. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
Leon. No, and swears slie never will ; that's her torment.
Claud. 'Tis true, indeed, so your daughter says: shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter'd him with scorn, write to him that I love him ?
Leon. This says she now, when she is beginning to write to him ; for she'll be up twenty times a-night, and there will she fit 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. 0, when she had writ it, and was read. ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet.
Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; rail'd at herself, that she should be so immodelt, to write to one that she knew would flout her : I measure him, says she, by my own fpirit, for I should fout him if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should Cleud. Then down upon her knees The falls, weeps,
fobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!
Leon. She doth, indeed, my daughter says fo; and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afraid she will do desperate outrage to herself; it is very true.
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 liang him ; she's an excellent sweet lady, and (out of all fufpicion) she is virtuous.
Claud. And she is exceeding wife.
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 hal£ myself. 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 the make her love known; and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustom'd crossness,
Pedro. She doth well; if she should make tender of: her love, 'tis very poflible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible fpirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man,
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 say he is wise; for either her avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them
with a Christian-like fear *. Well, I am sorry for your niece: 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; lct it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could will he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy to have so good a lady.
Leon. My Lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready.
Claud. If he do not doat on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation,
[-4fide. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman 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 merely a dumb show, Let us send her to call him to dinner, [Afide.
[Exeunt. SCENE X. 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 re“ quited. I hear how I am cenfur'd: they say I will “ bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from
her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection.
I did never think to marry -I must not seem proud Happy are they that “ hear thcir detractions, and can put them to mend“ ing. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth I can 66 bear them witness: and virtuous;—’tis so, I cannot
a Chriftian-like fear. Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.
Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, how foever it fed ms not in him, by some large jeits he will make. Well, & c.
" reprove it: and wife, but for loving memby 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. "-1 may chance to have some odd quirks and rem
nants of wit broken on me, because I have rail'd so
long against marriage But doth not the appetite “ .alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he “ cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences, si and these paper-bullets of the brain, awe a man from " the career of his humour no; the world must be " peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, 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 fpy fome marks of love in her.”
Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent 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 ine; if it had been painful, I. would not bave 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 ftomach, Signior ; fare you well.
[Exit. Bene. Ha! against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner;-there's a double meaning in that. I took 119 more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me :-that's as much as to lay, any pains that I take for
you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew; : I will go get her picture,
ACT III. SCENE I.
Continues in the orchard.
OOD Margaret, run thee into the parlour,
I There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice, Proposing with the Prince and Claudio;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us; And bid hear steal into the pleached bower, * Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the fun, • Forbid the sun to enter; like to favourites, • Made proud by princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it:' there will she hide To listen our purpose: this is thy office; Bcar thee well in it, and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant, presently.
[Exit, Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk muit only be of Benedick. When I do name him, let it be thy part To praise him more than ever man did merit. My talk to thee must be, how Benedick Is fick in love with Beatrice; of this matter Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, That only wounds by hear-say Now begin.
Enter Beatrice, running towards the arbour.
Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Hero. Then we go near her, that her ear lose nothing
Urf. But are you sure,
Hero. So says the Prince, and my new-trothed Lord.
Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it; But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,