Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Conr. Is it poffible that any villainy should be so dear ? Bora. Thou should'st rather ask if it were poffible any villainy should 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 shews thou art unconfirm'd; thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man. Conr. Yes, it is apparel. Conr. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Bora. Tush, I may as well say the fool's the fool; but seeft thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a vile thief this seven years; he goes up and down like a gentleman : I remember his name. Bora. Didst thou not hear fome body ? Bora. Seeft thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is, how giddily he turns about all the hot-bloods between fourteen and five and thirty, sometimes fashioning them like Pharao's foldiers in the reechy painting, sometimes like the God Bel's priests in the old church-window, sometimes like the shaven Hercules * in the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massie as his club? Conr. All this I see, and see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man; but art not thou thy self giddy with the fashion, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ? Bora. Not so 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 chamberwindow, bids me a thousand times good night-I tell this tale vilely-I should first tell thee how the Prince, Claudio, and my master planted and plaç'd, and poffefsed by my * Meaning Sampson. VOL. II, P mafter master Don John, saw far off in the orchard this amiable encounter. Conr. And thought thy Margaret was Hero ? Fora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths which first possest them, partly by the dark night which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Don Jobn had made, away went Claudio enraged, swore he would meet her as he was appointed next morning at the temple, and there before the whole congregation shame her with what he saw o'er night, and send her home again without a husband. I Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right mafter conftable, we have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the common-wealth. 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock. Conr. Masters, masters, 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I war rant you. Conr. Masters, I Watth. 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 these mens bills. Conr. A commodity in question, I warrant you: come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Leonato's House. Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula. Hero. Good Urfula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and defire her to rife. Urs. I will, Lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Urf. Well. [Exit. Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato 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. Here. Hero. My coufin's a fool, and thou art another. I'll wear none but this. Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browners and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the Dutchess of Milan's gown that they praise so. Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with filver, set with pearls down-sleeves, fide-sleeves, and skirts round, underborn with a bleuish tinsel; 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! Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee, art not asham'd ? Marg. Of what, Lady? of speaking honourably ? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me say (saving your reverence) a husband. If bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, 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, otherwise 'tis light and not heavy; ask my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes. SCENE VII. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow, coz. Hero. Why, how now ? do you speak in the sick tune ? Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels; then, if your husband have stables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. Beat. 'Tis almost five a clock, cousin; '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. P2 Marg. Marg. Well, if you be not turn'd Turk, there's no lingby more failing by the star. Beat. What means the fool, trow ? Marg. Nothing I, but God send every one their heart's defire! Hero. These gloves the Count sent me, they are excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuft, coufin, I cannot smell. Marg. A maid and stuft! there's a 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 seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am fick. Marg. Get you fome of this distill'd Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus? why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus. Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning, I meant plain holy-thistle; you may think perchance that I think you are in love; nay, birlady, I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I lift not to think what I can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would think my heart out with thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in Jove, or that you can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man; he swore he would never marry, and yet now in despight of his heart he eats his meat without grudging; and how you may be converted I know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Enter Ursula. Urf. Madam, withdraw; the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to church. Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Urfula. [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE VIII. Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour ? Dogb. Marry, Sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief, I pray you, for you see 'tis a busy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, Sir. Verg. Yes in truth it is, Sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends? Dogb. Goodman Verges, Sir, speaks a little of the matter, an old man, Sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as God help I would defire they were, but, in faith, as honest as the skin between his brows. Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man and no honester than I. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Dogb. It pleases your Worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke's officers; but truly for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a King, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your Worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ha? Dogb. Yea, and twice a thousand times more than 'tis, for I hear as good exclamation on your Worship as of any man in the city; and tho' I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to fay. Verg. Marry, Sir, our Watch to-night, excepting your Worship's prefence, hath ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Meffina. Dogb. A good old man, Sir, he will be talking as they say; when the age is in, the wit is out, God help us, it is a world to fee: well faid, i' faith, neighbour berges, well, he's a good man; an two men ride an horse, one must ride behind; an honest soul, i' faith, Sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke bread, but God is to be worship'd; all men are 1 not alike, alas good neighbour ! P3 Leon. |