With candle-wasters^{4 note}
; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and give comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel;
My griefs cry louder than advertisement^{5 note}.

Ant.
Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon.
I pray thee, peace; I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods^{6 note}

Ant.
Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.

Leon.
There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so:

My soul doth tell me, Hero is bely'd;
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.

Ant.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.

Pedro.
Good den, good den.

Claud.
Good day to both of you.

Leon.
Hear you, my lords,—

Pedro.
We have some haste, Leonato.

Leon.
Some haste, my lord?—well, fare you well, my lord:—
Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one.

Pedro.
Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.

Ant.
If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lye low.

Claud.
Who wrongs him?

Leon.
Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou!
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.

Claud.
Marry, beshrew my hand,
If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon.
Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me;
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd my innocent child, and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to tryal of a man.
I say, thou hast bely'd mine innocent child,
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lyes bury'd with her ancestors:

O, in a tomb where scandal never slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy!

Claud.
My villainy?

Leon.
Thine, Claudio; thine I say.

Pedro.
You say not right, old man.

Leon.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
Despight his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.

Claud.
Away, I will not have to do with you.

Leon.
^{8 note}

Ant.
He shall kill two of us, and men indeed^{9 note}:

But that's no matter; let him kill one first;—
Win me and wear me,—let him answer me:—
Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, follow me;
Sir, boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon.
Brother,—

Ant.
Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my niece;
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains;
That dare as well answer a man, indeed,
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue:
Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops!—

Leon.
Brother Anthony,—

Ant.
Hold you content; What, man? I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:
Scambling^{1 note}, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys,
That lye, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
Go antickly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.

Leon.
But, brother Anthony,—

Ant.
Come 'tis no matter;
Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.

Pedro.
Gentlemen both, we will not ^{2 note}

My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
But on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.

Leon.
My lord, my lord,—

Pedro.
I will not hear you.

Leon.
No?
Come, brother, away:—I will be heard;—

Ant.
And shall,
Or some of us will smart for it, [Exeunt ambo. Enter Benedick.

Pedro.
See, see,
Here comes the man we went to seek.

Claud.
Now, signior!
What news?

Bene.
Good day, my lord.

Pedro.
Welcome signior:
You are almost come to part almost a fray.

Claud.

We had like to have had our two noses snapt off with two old men without teeth.

Pedro.

Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them.

Bene.
In a false quarrel there is no true valour.
I came to seek you both.

Claud.

We have been up and down to seek thee;

for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit?

Bene.

It is in my scabbard; Shall I draw it?

Pedro.

Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

Claud.

Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.—I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us.

Pedro.
As I am an honest man, he looks pale:—
Art thou sick or angry?

Claud.

What! courage, man! What though care kill'd a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

Bene.

Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, if you charge it against me:—I pray you, chuse another subject.

Claud.

Nay, then give him another staff; this last was broke cross^{3 note}.

Pedro.

By this light, he changes more and more; I think, he be angry indeed.

Claud.

If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle^{4 note}

Bene.

Shall I speak a word in your ear?

Claud.

God bless me from a challenge!

Bene.

You are a villain;—I jest not:—I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:—Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have kill'd a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you:—Let me hear from you.

Claud.

Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

Pedro.

What, a feast? a feast?

Claud.

I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calves-head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught.—Shall I not find a woodcock too?

Bene.

Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

Pedro.

I'll tell thee, how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True, says she, a fine little one; No, said I, a great wit; Right, said she, a great gross one; Nay, said I, a good wit; Just, says she, it hurts no body; Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a ^{5 note}wise gentleman; Nay, said I, he hath the tongues; That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me on monday night, which he forswore on tuesday morning; there's a double tongue, there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

Claud.

For the which she wept heartily, and said, she car'd not.

Pedro.

Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly; the old man's daughter told us all.

Claud.

All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden.

Pedro.

But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head?

Claud.

Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man?

Bene.

Fare you well, boy; you know my mind; I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God

be thanked, hurt not.—My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you; I must discontinue your company: your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina; you have, among you, kill'd a sweet and innocent lady: For my lord lack-beard there, he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him!

Pedro.

He is in earnest.

Claud.

In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice.

Pedro.

And hath challeng'd thee?

Claud.

Most sincerely,

Pedro.

^{6 note}What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!

Claud.

He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an ape a doctor to such a man.

Pedro.

But, soft you, let be 9Q0245; pluck up my heart, and be sad: Did he not say, my brother was fled?

Dogb.

Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be look'd to.

Pedro.

How now, two of my brother's men bound! Borachio, one!

Claud.

Hearken after their offence, my lord!

Pedro.

Officers, what offence have these men done?

Dogb.

Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have bely'd a lady; thirdly, they have verify'd unjust things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

Pedro.

First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge?

Claud.

Rightly reason'd, and in his own division; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited^{7 note}.

Pedro.

Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood: What's your offence?

Bora.

Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light; who, in the night, overheard me confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incens'd me to slander the lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; how you disgrac'd her, when you should marry her: my villainy they have upon record; which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame: the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.

Pedro.
Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

Claud.
I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.

Pedro.
But did my brother set thee on to this?

Bora.
Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.

Pedro.
He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery:—
And fled he is upon this villainy.

Claud.
Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.

Dogb.

Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this

time our Sexton hath reform'd signior Leonato of the matter: And masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

Verg.

Here, here comes master signior Leonato, and the Sexton too.

Leon.
Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes;
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: Which of these is he?

Bora.
If you would know your wronger, look on me.

Leon.
Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?

Bora.
Yea, even I alone.

Leon.
No, not so villain; thou bely'st thyself;
Here stand a pair of honourable men,
A third is fled, that had a hand in it:—
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death;
Record it with your high and worthy deeds;
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud.
I know not how to pray your patience,
Yet I must speak: Chuse your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not,
But in mistaking.

Pedro.
By my soul, nor I;
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon.
I cannot bid you bid my daughter live,
That were impossible; but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she dy'd: and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,

And sing it to her bones; sing it to night:—
To-morrow morning come you to my house;
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that's dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us^{8 note};
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.

Claud.
O noble sir,
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon.
To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave.—This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, 9Q0246
Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora.
No, by my soul, she was not;
Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me;
But always hath been just and virtuous,
In any thing that I do know by her.

Dogb.

Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under white and black) this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembred in his punishment: And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a ^{9 note}key in his

ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows money in God's name; the which he hath us'd so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you, examine him upon that point.

Leon.

I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

Dogb.

Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise God for you.

Leon.

There's for thy pains.

Dogb.

God save the foundation!

Leon.

Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.

Dogb.

I leave an errant knave with your worship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish your worship well; God restore you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it.—Come, neighbour.

Leon.
Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

Ant.
Farewell, my lords; we look for you tomorrow.

Pedro.
We will not fail.

Claud.
To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

Leon.
Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Benedick, and Margaret, meeting.

Bene.

Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg.

Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene.

In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg.

^{1 note}

Bene.

Thy wit is a quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches.

Marg.

And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene.

A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers^{2 note}

Marg.

Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.

Bene.

If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

Marg.

Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think hath legs.

Bene.

And therefore will come.