To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,. Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, And when I fend for you, come hither mask'd : The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour. To vifit me; you know your office, brother, You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio.

[Exeunt ladies.

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Friar, I must intreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, Signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. Signior Leonato, truth it is, good Signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true.
Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon. The fight whereof, I think, you had from me,
From Claudio, and the Prince. But what's your will?
Bene. Your answer, Sir, is enigmatical;
But for my will, my will is, your good-will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
I'th' state of honourable marriage;

In which, good Friar, I shall defire your help. -
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar. And my help.

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with attendants.
Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon. Goodmorrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio,
We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were the an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the Friar ready.

[Exit Antonio.

Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick; why, what's the That you have fuch a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness ?

[matter,

Claud. I think he thinks upon the favage bulf : Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And fo all Europe shall rejoice at thee;

As

As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, Sir, had an amiable low, And fome fuch strange bull leap'd your father's cow; And got a calf, in that fame noble feat,

Much like to you; for you have just his bleat.

Enter Antonio, with Hero, Beatrice, Margaret. and

Urfula, majked.

Claud. For this I owe you. Here come other reckWhich is the lady I must seize upon ? [onings.

Ant. This fame is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine; fweet, let me fee

your face.

Leon No, that you shall not till you take her hand Before this Friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand. Before this holy Friar, I am your husband if you like of me.

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife;

[Unmasking.

And when you lov'd you were my other husband.
Claud. Another Hero?

Hero. Nothing certainer,

One Hero dy'd defil'd, but I do live;

And, furely, as I live, I am a maid.

Pedro The former Hero! Hero, that is dead!
Leon She dy'd, my Lord, but whiles her slander
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;

When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell thee largely of fair Hero's death :
Mean time let wonder seem familiar,

And to the chapel let us presently.

[liv'd,

Bene. Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name; what is your will? Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. Why, no, no more than reason.

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the Prince, and Claudio, have been deceiv'd; they swore you did, Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. Troth, no, no more than reafon.

Beat.

Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Urfula, Have been deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore you were almost fick for me. Beat. They fwore you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no matter; then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompence.

Leon. Come, coufin, I am sure you love the gentle.

man.

Claud. And I'll be fworn upon't that he loves her; For here's a paper written in his hand, A halting fonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another,

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick,

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts; come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great perfuafion, and partly to fave your life; for, as I was told, you were in a confumption. Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.-

[Kissing her. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou, think I care for a fatyr, or an epigram? No: "If a

man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear.nothing handsome about him." In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have faid against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclufion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruis'd, and love my coufin.

Cland. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgellid thee out of thy fingle life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my coufin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends; let's have a dance dance ere we are marry'd, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, mufic. Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife; there is no staff more reverend than one tipt with horn.

Enter Messenger.

Meff. My Lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise

thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers.

[Dances.

Exeunt omnes.

The

SCENE, partly at Venice; and partly at Belmont, the feat of Portia upon the continent.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Street in Venice.

Enter Anthonio, Solarino, and Salanio.
N footh, I know not why I am fo fad.
It wearies me; you fay, it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,

Anth.

What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn

And fuch a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sal. Your mind is toffing on the ocean; There, where your Argofies with portly fail, Like figniors and rich burghers on the flood, Or as it were the pageants of the fea,

Do overpeer the petty traffickers,