metal than earth; would it not grieve a woman to be over-mafter'd with a piece of valiant dust? to make account of her life to a clod of way-ward marle? no, uncle, I'll none; Adam's fons are my brethren, and, truly, I hold it a fin to match in my kindred. Leon. Daughter, remember, what I told you; if the Prince do follicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Beat. The fault will be in the musick, cousin, if you be not woo'd in good time; If the Prince be too important, tell him, there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the Answer; for hear me, Hero, wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace; the first suit is hot and hafty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding mannerly-modeft, as a measure, full of state and anchentry; and then comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace fafter and fafter, 'till he finks into his grave. Leon. Coufin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle, I can fee a church by day-light. Leon. The revellers are entring, brother; make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar, and others in Masquerade. Pedro. Lady, will you walk with your Friend? Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk, and especially when I walk away. Pedro. With me in your company? Hero. I may say so, when I please. Pedro. And when please you to say fo? Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend, the lute should be like the cafe! C2 Pedro. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is (a) Jove. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. Balth. Well; I would, you did like me. Marg. So would not I for your own fake, for I have many ill qualities. Balth. Which is one? Marg. I say my Prayers aloud. Balth. I love you the better, the hearers may cry Amen. Marg. God match me with a good dancer! Marg. And God keep him out of my fight when the dance is done! Answer, Clerk. Balth. No more words, the clerk is answer'd. Urs. I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urf. I know you by the wagling of your head. Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man: here's his dry hand up and down; you are he, you are he. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urf. Come, come, do you think, I do not know you by your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? go to, mum, you are he; graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me, who told you fo? Beat. Nor will you not tell me, who you are? : Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good Wit out of The Hundred merry Tales; well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. (a) Jove, Mr. Theobald - Vulg. Love. Bene. ! Bene. What's he? Beat. I am fure, you know him well enough. Beat. Did he never make you laugh? Beat. Why, he is the Prince's jester; a very dull fool, only + his gift is in devising impaffible slanders: none but libertines delight in him, and the commendation is not in his wit, but in 5 his villany; for he both pleaseth men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him; I am fure, he is in the fleet; I would, he had boarded me. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you fay. 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 sav'd, for the fool will eat no fupper that night. We must follow the leaders. [Musick within. Bene. In every good thing. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning. [Exeunt. Manent John, Borachio, and Claudio. 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. Bora. And that is Claudio; I know him by his Bearing. 4- his gift is in devising IMPOSSIBLE landers:] We should read IMPASSIBLE, i. e. slanders so ill invented that they will pass upon no body. 5 - his villany;] by which, she means his malice and impiety. By his impious jests, she infinuates he pleased libertines ; and by his devising flanders of them, he angered them. C3 John. John. Are you not Signior Benedick? John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love, he is enamour'd on Hero; I pray you, difsuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth; you may do the part of an honest man in it. : Claud. How know ye, he loves her? John. I heard him swear his affection. Bora. So did I too, and he swore he would marry her to night. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt John and Bor. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, Therefore all hearts in love use (a) your own tongues! And trust no agent; beauty is a witch, Againft whose charms faith melteth into blood. Which I miftrusted not. Farewel then, Hero! Enter Benedick. Bene. Count Claudio ? Claud. Yea, the fame. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What fashion will you wear the 1 6-faith melteth into blood.] i. e. These intemperate defires make men treacherous; but the expression alludes to the old opinion of fuperftition concerning witches; that they turned wholesome liquors into blood by their charms. (a) your own tongues! Oxf. Edit. - Vulg. their own tongues. gariand garland of? about your neck, like an Usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a Lieutenant's scarf? you must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero. : Claud. I wish him Joy of her. Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; so they fell bullocks: but did you think, the 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 Poft. [Exit. Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowle! now will he creep into fedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! the Prince's fool! 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. It is the base (tho' bitter) disposition of Beatrice, that puts the World into her person, and fo gives me out; well, I'll be reveng'd as I may. Pedro. Now, Signior, where's the Count? did you fee 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, told him true) that your Grace had got the Will of this young lady, and I offer'd him my company to a willowtree, either to make him a garland, as being forfaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipt. Pedro. To be whipt! what's his fault? C4 being |