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Urf. Well. [Exit Urfula. Marg. Troth, I think, your other Rabato were better.

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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.

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 browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion, i'faith. I faw the Dutchels of Milan's gown, that they praise fo.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in refpect of yours; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with filver, fet with pearls down-fleeves, fide-fleeves and skirts, round underborne with a blueish tinfel; 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 foon by the weight of a

man.

Hero. Fie upon thee, art not afham'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 fay (faving your reverence) a husband. If bad thinking do not wreft true fpeaking, I'll offend no body, is there any harm in the heavier for a Hufband? none, I think, if it be the right Hufband, and the right wife, otherwife 'tis light and not heavy; ask my lady Beatrice elfe, here fhe comes.

s Rabato.] A Neckband; a Ruff. Rabat. French. HANMER,

SCENE

SCENE VII.

Enter Beatrice.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.

Beat. Good morrow, fweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the fick tune?

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

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Marg. Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you fing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yes, Light o' love with your heels; then if your husband have ftables enough, you'll look he shall lack no barns.

Marg. O illegitimate conftruction! I fcorn that with my heels.

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, coufin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill-hey ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horfe, or a husband?

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Beat. 'For the letter that begins them all, H. Marg. Well, if you be not turn'd Turk, there's no more failing by the ftar.

Beat. What means the fool, trow?

Marg. Nothing I, but God fend every one their heart's defire!

Ilero. Thefe gloves the count fent me, they are an excellent perfume.

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Beat. I am ftufft, coufin, I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and ftufft! there's goodly catching of cold.

Beat. O, God help me, God help me, how long have you profeft apprehenfion?

Mar. Ever fince you left it; doth not my wit become me rarely?

Beat. It is not feen enough, you fhould wear it in your cap-By my troth, I am fick.

Marg. Get you fome of this diftill'd Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

Hero. There thou prick'ft her with a thiftle.

Beat. Benedictus? why Benedictus? you have' fome 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, bi'rlady, I am not fuch a fool to think what I lift; 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 love, or that you can be in love; yet Bencdick was fuch another, and now is he become a man; he fwore, he would never marry; and yet now, in defpight 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.

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the meaning of proverbial expreffions: perhaps, to eat meat without grudging, was the fame as to do as others do, and the meaning is, he is content to live by eating like other mortals, and will be content, notwithstanding his boats, like other mortals, ta have a wife,

Beat.

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ?
Marg. Not a falfe gallop.

Enter Urfula.

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 drefs me, good coz, good Meg, good Urfula.

Leon.

SCENE

VIII.

Another Apartment in Leonato's Houfe.

[Exeunt.

Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.

W

HAT would you with me, honeft neighbour?

Dogb. Marry, Sir, I would have fome confidence with you, that decerns you nearly.

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you fee, '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, fpeaks a little of the matter: an old man, Sir, and his wits are not fo blunt, as, God help, I would defire they were; but, in faith, as honeft as the fkin between his brows.

Verg. Yes, I thank God, 'I am as honeft as any man living, that is an old man, and no honefter than I. Dogb.

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Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges.

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleafes your worship to fay fo, 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 tedioufnefs on me, ha?

Dogb. Yea, and 'twere 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 fo am I.

Leon. I wonld fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, Sir, our Watch to night, excepting your Worship's prefence, hath ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Meljina.

Dogb. A good old man, Sir; he will be talking, as they fay; when the age is in, the wit is out; God help us, it is a world to fee-well faid, i'faith, neighbour Verges-well, he's a good man ; an two men ride an horse, one muft ride behind-an honest soul, i'faith, Sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke bread, but God is to be worthipp'd; all men are not alike, alas, good neighbour!

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too fhort of

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