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Why ever waft thou lovely in my eyes?
Bene. Sir, Sir, be patient;
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
Beat. O, on my foul, my cousin is bely'd.
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O that is ftronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron. Would the two princes lye? and Claudio lye, Who lov'd her so, that speaking of her foulness, Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her, let her die. Friar Hear me a little,
For I have only been filent fo long,
And given way unto this courfe of fortune,
To start into her face; a thousand innocent fhames
Leon. Friar, it cannot be
Thou feest that all the grace that she hath left,
Why feek'st thou then to cover with excufe
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know that do accufe me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive,
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Friar. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the princes.
Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her, Thefe hands fhall 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 fhall find awak'd, in fuch a kind, Both ftrength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them thoroughly.
Friar. Faufe a while,
And let my counfel fway you in this cafe.
Leon. What shall become of this? what will this do?
Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good :
And every lovely organ of her life
• Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit;
⚫ More moving, delicate, and full of life
Into the eye and prospect of his foul
Than when fhe liv'd indeed.' Then fhall he mourn,
If ever love had intereft in his liver,
And wish he had not fo accufed her;
No, though he thought his accufation true.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advife you.
Leon. Being that I flow in grief,
Friar. 'Tis well confented, presently away; For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they flrain 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.
Beat. You have no reafon, I do it freely.
Bene. Surely I do believe your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deferve of me, that would right her!
Bene. Is there any way to fhew 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 your's. Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that ftrange?
Beat As ftrange as the thing I know not. It were as poffible for me to fay, I loved nothing fo well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I con fefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin:
Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me.
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 proteft I love thee.
Beat. Why then, God forgive me.
Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice?
Beat. You have flay'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 fo much of my heart, that none is left to protest.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat. Kill Claudio.
Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.
Beat. You kill me to deny; farewel.
Bene. Tarry, fweet Beatrice.
Beat. I am gone, tho' 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 firft.
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, difhonour'd my kinswoman! O that I were a man! What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public 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, fhe is undone.
Beat. Princes and Counts! furely, a princely teftimony, a goodly count-comfect, a fweet gallant, furely! O that I were a man for his fake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! But manhood is melted into curtefies, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too. He is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lye, and fwears it. I cannot be a man with wifhing, 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. Yea, as fure as I have a thought or a foul. Bene. Enough; I am engage'd; I will challenge him. I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you; by this hand,