Which with experimental feal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; truft not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,

If this fweet Lady lye not guiltless here
Under fome biting error.

Leon. It cannot be ;

Thou seeft that all the grace that he hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A fin of perjury; fhe not denies it :
Why feek'st thou then to cover with excufe
That which appears in proper nakedness ?

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 modefty doth warrant,
Let all my fins lack mercy! O my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yefternight
Maintain❜d the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is fome ftrange mifprifion in the Princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour, And if their wifdoms be mif-led in this,

The practice of it lives in John the bastard,

Whofe fpirits toil in frame of villainies.

Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her,
These hands fhall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudeft 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 so 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 throughly.
Frior. Paufe a while,

And let my counsel fway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the Princes left for dead;

Let her a while be fecretly kept in,

And

And publish it that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning oftentation,
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful Epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do?
Friar. Marry, this well carry'd, fhall on her behalf
Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good:
But not for that dream I on this ftrange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth:
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the inftant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: for it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not shew us
Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear the dy'd upon his words,
Th' idea of her love fhall fweetly creep
Into his ftudy of imagination,

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit ;

More moving, delicate, and full of life,

Into the eye and profpect of his foul,

Than when the liv'd indeed. Then fhall he mourn,
If ever love had intereft in his liver,
And wish he had not fo accufed her;
No, tho' he thought his accufation true :
Let this be fo, and doubt not but fuccefs
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd falfe,
The fuppofition of the Lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
And if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As beft befits her wounded reputation,
In fome reclufive and religious life,

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries,

Bene,

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advise you:
And tho' you know my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As fecretly and juftly, as your foul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I flow

In grief, alas! the smallest twine may lead me.
Friar. 'Tis well confented, prefently away,

For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they ftrain 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. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

Bene, I will not defire that.

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 yours.

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 confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my coufin.

Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me.

Beat. Do not fwear by it and eat it.

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?
VOL. II.

e

Beat.

Beat. You have ftay'd me in a happy hour; I was about to protest 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 eafier be friends with me,

with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ?

than fight

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, difhonour'd my kinfwoman ? O that I were a man! what, bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then with publick 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 ?

faying!

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice!

a proper

Beat. Sweet Hero! the wrong'd, fhe is flander'd, fhe

is undone.

Bene. But

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 cour teles, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongues, and trim ones too; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and fwears it; I cannot be a man with wifhing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Bent.

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 engag'd, I will challenge him. I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you; by this hand, Claudio fhall render me dear account; as you hear of me, fo think of me; go comfort your coufin, I must say she is dead, and fo farewel. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Prison.

Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the TownClerk and Sexton in Gowns.

To. Cl. Is our whole affembly appear'd?

Dogb. O, a ftool and cufhion for the Sexton!'

Sexton. Which be the malefactors?

Verg. Marry, that am I and my partner.

Dogb. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to

examine.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before mafter constable.

To. C. Yea marry, let them come before me; what is your name, friend?

do

Bora. Borachio.

To, Cl. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, Sirrah?
Conr. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Conrade.
To. Cl. Write down mafter gentleman Conrade; masters,
you ferve God?

Both. Yea, Sir, we hope.

To. Cl. Write down that they hope they ferve God and write God first; for God defend but God fhould go before fuch villains. Mafters, it is proved already that you are little better than falfe knaves, and it will go near to be thought fo shortly; how anfwer you for your felves? Conr. Marry, Sir, we fay we are none.

To. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, Sirrah, a word in your ear, Sir; 1 fay to you, it is thought you are false, knaves.

Q2

Bora