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ter in rheum. Therefore it is most expedient for the wise (if don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy;) and now tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you?
Beat. Very ill too.
Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home. It is proved my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently?
Beat. Will you go
hear this news, seignior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with thee to thy
SCENE III. The inside of a Church.
Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with music and tapers.
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ?
Claud. [Reads from a scroll.]
Done to death by slanderous tongues
Gives her fame which never dies;
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it.
Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
Pardon, Goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight: For the which, with songs of woe, Round about her tomb they go. VOL. I.-25
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters. Put your torches out; The wolves have preyed; and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way. D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds, Than this, for whom we rendered up this woe!
SCENE IV. A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE, URSULA, Friar, and HERO.
Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent?
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accused her Upon the error that you heard debated. But Margaret was in some fault for this; Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question.
Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforced To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Ant. Which I will do with confirmed countenance.
Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.-
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her. 'Tis most true.
And my help.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio.
Enter DON PEDRO, and CLAUDIO, with Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull. Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.
Claud. For this I owe you; here comes other reckoning. Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let me see 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 lived, I was your other wife:
And when you loved, you were my other husband.
Hero that is dead!
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death. Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking.] 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 deceived; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?
Bene. Troth, no, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceived; for they did swear you did.
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter.-Then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet, of his own pure brain, Fashioned to Beatrice.
And here's another,
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 persuasion; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.
Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers
cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No; if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do propose 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 said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. - For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.
Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends;-Let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.
Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.
Bene. First, o' my word: therefore, play, music-prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife; there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. 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.