Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure, not mark'd, or not laugh'd at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Musick within.] We must follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning.

[Dance. Then exeunt all but Don JOHN, BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO.

D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it: The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains.

And that is Claudio: I know him by

Bora. his bearing.

D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick?
Claud. You know me well; I am he.

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it.

Claud. How know you he loves her?
D. John. I heard him swear his affection..
Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would

marry her to-night.

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet.

[Exeunt Don JOHN and BоRACHIO. Claud. Thus answer I in the name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Clau

'Tis certain so; the Prince wooes for himself.. Friendship is constant in all other things,

Save in the office and affairs of love:

Therefore, all hearts in love use their own ton gues;

Let every eye negociate for itself,

And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof,

Which I mistrusted not; Farewell therefore, Hero!

Re-enter BENEDICK.

Bene. Count Claudio.

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me?
Claud, Whither?

Behe. Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What fashion will you woar the garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieute nant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

the

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; so they sell bullocks. But did you think, Prince would have served you thus?

Claud. I pray you, leave me.

Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll

beat the post.

Claud. If it I will not be, I'll leave you.

[Exit. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should and not know me! The Prince's fool!

know me,

Ha! it may be, I go under that title, because I am merry. Yea; but so; I am apt to do

myself wrong: I am not so reputed: base, the bitter disposition of Beatrice,

it is the

that puts

the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may.

Re-enter Don PEDRO, HERO, and LEONATO. D. Pedro. Now, Sighior, where's the Count? 'Did you see him?

Bene. Troth, my Lord, I have play'd the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a red, as being worthy to be, whipped.

D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trangression? The transgression is in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself; and the rod he might have bestow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol' his bird's. nest.

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.

D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman, that danced with her, told her, she is much wrong'd by you.

Bens. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answerd her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her: She told me,

not thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince's jester; that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me: She speaks poniards, aud every word stabs : if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her, she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he traifsgress'd she would have made Hercules have turn'd spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the infernal Até in good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; 50, indeed, all disquiet, horror,, and perturbation follows her.

Re-enter CLAUDIO, and BEATRICK.

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Bene. Will your Grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest erraud now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on; I will feich you a toothpicker now from the farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair of the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmics, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy: You have no employment for me?

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.

Bene. O God, Sir, here's a dish I love not; cannot endure my lady Tongue.

1

[Exit.

D. Pedro. Come, Lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.

Beat. Indeca, my Lord, he lent, it me a while; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: marry, once before, he won it of me with false, dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost it.

D. Pedro. You have put him down, Lady, you have put him down.

my I

Beat. So I would not he should do me, Lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. have brought ́ Count Claudio, whom you sent me to scek.

D. Pedro. Why, how now, Count? wherefore are you sad?

Claud. Not sad, my Lord.

D. Pedro. How then? Sick?
Claud. Neither, my Lord.

Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well: but civil, Count; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.,

D. Pedro. I'faith, Lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy!

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his Grace hath made the mach, and all Grace say Amen to it!

Beat. Speak, Count, 'tis your cue.

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give