Ursula.
Hero.
Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour,
There shalt thou find my Cousin Beatrice,
Proposing with the Prince and Claudio;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached Bower,
&plquo;Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the Sun,
&plquo;Forbid the Sun to enter; like to Favourites,
&plquo;Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride
&plquo;Against that power that bred it:&prquo; there will she hide her,
To listen our Purpose; this is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Marg.
I'll make her come, I warrant presently.
[Exit.
Hero.
Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our Talk must only be of Benedick;
When I do name him, let it be thy Part
To praise him more than ever man did merit.
My Talk to thee must be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice; of this matter
-- 40 --
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hear-say: now begin.
Enter Beatrice, running towards the Arbour.
For look, where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference.
Ursu.
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait;
So angle we for Beatrice, who e'en now
Is couched in the woodbine-coverture;
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero.
Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.—
No, truly, Ursula, she's too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As 1 notehaggerds of the rock.
Ursu.
But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so intirely?
Hero.
So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord.
Ursu.
And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam?
Hero.
They did intreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To wish him wrastle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Ursu.
Why did you so? doth not the Gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
Hero.
O God of love! I know, he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice.
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Mis-prizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak; she cannot love,
-- 41 --
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-indeared.
Ursu.
Sure, I think so;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero.
Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward; &plquo;if fair-fac'd,
&plquo;She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
&plquo;2 note
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick,
&plquo;Made a foul blot; if tall, a launce ill-headed;
&plquo;3 note
If low, an Aglet very vilely cut;
&plquo;If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
&plquo;If silent, why a block moved with none.&prquo;
So turns she every man the wrong side out,
And never gives to truth and virtue That,
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
Ursu.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero.
No; for to be so odd, and from all fashions,
-- 42 --
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.
But who dare tell her so? if I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly;
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which is as bad as 'tis to die with tickling.
Ursu.
Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.
Hero.
No, rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion.
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my Cousin with; one doth not know,
How much an ill word may impoison liking.
Ursu.
O, do not do your Cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as Benedick.
Hero.
He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Ursu.
I pray you, be not angry with me, Madam,
Speaking my fancy; Signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
Hero.
Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Ursu.
His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you marry'd, Madam?
Hero.
Why, every day; to morrow; come, go in,
I'll shew thee some attires, and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me to morrow.
Ursu.
She's lim'd, I warant you; we have caught
her, Madam.
Hero.
If it prove so, then loving goes by haps;
Some Cupids kill with arrows, Some with traps.
[Exeunt.
-- 43 --
Beatrice, advancing.
Beat.
4 noteWhat fire is in my ears? can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for Pride and Scorn so much?
Contempt, farewel! and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou dost love, thy kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band.
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Leonato's House.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato.
Pedro.
I do but stay 'till your marriage be consummate,
and then go I toward Arragon.
Claud.
I'll bring you thither my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.
Pedro.
Nay, That would be as great a soil in the
new gloss of your marriage, as to shew a child his
new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be
bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the
crown of his head to the soale of his foot, he is all
mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string,
and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he
hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the
clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.
Bene.
Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon.
So say I; methinks, you are sadder.
Claud.
I hope, he is in love.
-- 44 --
Pedro.
Hang him, truant, there's no true drop of
blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love; if he
be sad, he wants mony.
Bene.
I have the tooth-ach.
Pedro.
Draw it.
Bene.
Hang it.
Claud.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
Pedro.
What? sigh for the tooth-ach!
Leon.
Which is but a humour, or a worm.
Bene.
Well, every one can master a grief but he
that has it.
Claud.
Yet say I, he is in love.
&wlquo;Pedro.
&wlquo;There is no appearance of fancy in him,
unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises,
as to be a Dutch man to day, a French man
to morrow; 5 noteor in the shape of two countries
at once, a German from the waste downward, all
slops; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no
doublet:&wrquo; Unless he have a fancy to this foolery,
as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you
would have it to appear he is.
Claud.
If he be not in love with some woman, there
is no believing old signs; he brushes his hat o'mornings;
what should that bode?
Pedro.
Hath any man seen him at the barber's?
Claud.
No, but the barber's man hath been seen
with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath
already stuft tennis-balls.
Leon.
Indeed, he looks younger than he did by the
loss of a beard.
Pedro.
Nay, he rubs himself with civet; can you
smell him out by that?
Claud.
That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's
in love.
Pedro.
The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
-- 45 --
Claud.
And when was he wont to wash his face?
Pedro.
Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I
hear what they say of him.
Claud.
Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now
crept into a lute-string and now govern'd by stops—
Pedro.
Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him.
Conclude, he is in love.
Claud.
Nay, but I know who loves him.
Pedro.
That would I know too: I warrant, one
that knows him not.
Claud.
Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight
of all, dies for him.
Pedro.
She shall be bury'd with her face upwards.
Bene.
Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. Old
Signior, walk aside with me, I have study'd eight or
nine wise words to speak to you which these hobby-
horses must not hear.
[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
Pedro.
For my life, to break with him about
Beatrice.
Claud.
'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by
this play'd their parts with Beatrice; and then the
two bears will not bite one another, when they meet.
SCENE III.
Enter Don John.
John.
My Lord and Brother, God save you.
Pedro.
Good den, brother.
John.
If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with you.
Pedro.
In private?
John.
If it please you; yet Count Claudio may
hear; for, what I would speak of, concerns him.
Pedro.
What's the matter?
John.
Means your lordship to be marry'd to morrow?
[To Claudio.
Pedro.
You know, he does.
-- 46 --
John.
I know not that, when he knows what I
know.
Claud.
If there be any impediment, I pray you,
discover it.
John.
You may think, I love you not; let that
appear hereafter; and aim better at me by That I
now will manifest; for my brother, I think, he holds
you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect
your ensuing marriage; surely, Suit ill spent, and
Labour ill bestow'd!
Pedro.
Why, what's the matter?
John.
I came hither to tell you, and circumstances
shorten'd, (for she hath been too long a talking of)
the Lady is disloyal.
Claud.
Who? Hero?
John.
Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every
man's Hero.
Claud.
Disloyal?
John.
The word is too good to paint out her wickedness;
I could say, she were worse; think you of a
worse title, and I will fit her to it; wonder not 'till
further warrant; go but with me to night, you shall
see her chamber-window enter'd, even the night before
her wedding day; if you love her, then to morrow
wed her; but it would better fit your honour to
change your mind.
Claud.
May this be so?
Pedro.
I will not think it.—
John.
If you dare not trust that you see, confess
not that you know; if you will follow me, I will
shew you enough; and when you have seen more and
heard more, proceed accordingly.
Claud.
If I see any thing to night why I should
not marry her to morrow; in the Congregation,
where I should wed, there will I shame her.
Pedro.
And as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I
will join with thee to disgrace her.
-- 47 --
John.
I will disparage her no farther, 'till you are
my witnesses; bear it coldly but 'till night, and let
the issue shew itself.
Pedro.
O day untowardly turned!
Claud.
O mischief strangely thwarting!
John.
O plague right well prevented!
So you will say, when you have seen the sequel.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Changes to the Street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.
Dogb.
Are you good men and true?
Verg.
Yea, or else it were pity but they
should suffer salvation, body and soul.
Dogb.
Nay, that were a punishment too good for
them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being
chosen for the Prince's Watch.
Verg.
Well, give them their charge, neighbour
Dogberry.
Dogb.
First, who think you the most desartless
man to be constable?
1 Watch.
Hugh Oatecake, Sir, or George Seacole;
for they can write and read.
Dogb.
Come hither, neighbour Seacole: God hath
blest you with a good name; and to be a well-favour'd
man is the gift of fortune, but to write and
read comes by nature.
2 Watch.
Both which, master constable—
Dogb.
You have: I knew, it would be your
answer. Well, for your Favour, Sir, why, give
God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your
writing and reading, let that appear when there is
6 notemore need of such vanity: you are thought here to
-- 48 --
be the most senseless and fit man for the Constable of
the Watch, therefore bear you the lanthorn; this is
your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men;
you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince's name.
2 Watch.
How if he will not stand?
Dogb.
Why, then take no note of him, but let
him go; and presently call the rest of the Watch together,
and thank God you are rid of a knave.
Verg.
If he will not stand when he is bidden, he
is none of the Prince's Subjects.
Dogb.
True, and they are to meddle with none
but the Prince's Subjects: you shall also make no
noise in the streets; for, for the Watch to babble and
talk, is most tolerable, and not to be endur'd.
&wlquo;2 Watch.
&wlquo;We will rather sleep than talk; we
know what belongs to a Watch.&wrquo;
&wlquo;Dogb.
&wlquo;Why, you speak like an ancient and most
quiet watchman, for I cannot see how Sleeping
should offend; only have a care that your Bills be
not stolen: well, you are to call at all the ale-houses,
and bid them that are drunk get them
to bed.&wrquo;
2 Watch.
How if they will not?
Dogb.
Why then let them alone 'till they are sober;
if they make you not then the better answer,
you may say, they are not the men you took them
for.
2. Watch.
Well, Sir.
Dogb.
If you meet a thief, you may suspect him
by vertue of your office to be no true man; and for
such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with
them, why, the more is for your honesty.
2 Watch.
If we know him to be a thief, shall we
not lay hands on him?
Dogb.
Truly, by your office you may; but, I think,
they that touch pitch will be defil'd: the most peaceable
way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let
-- 49 --
him shew himself what he is, and steal out of your
company.
Verg.
You have been always call'd a merciful man,
Partner.
Dogb.
Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will,
much more a man who hath any honesty in him.
Verg.
If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to the nurse and bid her still it.
2 Watch.
How if the nurse be asleep, and will not
hear us?
Dogb.
Why, then depart in Peace, and let the
child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not
hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf
when he bleats.
Verg.
'Tis very true.
Dogb.
This is the end of the Charge: you, constable,
are to present the Prince's own person; if you
meet the Prince in the night, you may stay him.
Verg.
Nay, birlady, that, I think, he cannot.
Dogb.
Five shillings to one on't with any man that
knows the Statues, he may stay him; marry, not
without the Prince be willing: for, indeed, the Watch
ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a
man against his will.
Verg.
Birlady, I think, it be so.
Dogb.
Ha, ha, ha! well, masters, good night; an
there be any matter of weight chances, call up me;
keep your fellow's counsels and your own, and good
night; come, neighbour.
2 Watch.
Well, masters, we hear our charge;
let us go sit here upon the church-bench 'till two, and
then all to bed.
Dogb.
One word more, honest neighbours. I pray
you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the
Wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coil
to night; adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you.
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.
-- 50 --
SCENE V.
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bora.
What? Conrade—
Watch.
Peace, stir not.
[Aside.
Bora.
Conrade, I say.
Conr.
Here, Man, I am at thy elbow.
Bora.
Mass, and my elbow itch'd, I thought there
would a scab follow.
Conr.
I will owe thee an answer for that, and now
forward with thy tale.
Bora.
Stand thee close then under this pent-house,
for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard,
utter all to thee.
Watch.
Some Treason, masters; yet stand close.
Bora.
Therefore know, I have earned of Don John
a thousand ducats.
Conr.
Is it possible that any Villany should be so
dear?
Bora.
Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible
7 noteany villain should be so rich? for when rich villains
have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what
price they will.
Conr.
I wonder at it.
Bora.
That shews, 8 notethou art unconfirm'd; thou
knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or
a cloak is nothing to a man.
Conr.
Yes, it is apparel.
Bora.
I mean the fashion.
Conr.
Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora.
Tush, I may as well say, the fool's the Fool;
but see'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion is?
-- 51 --
Watch.
I know that Deformed; he has been a vile
thief these seven years; he goes up and down like a
gentleman: I remember his name.
Bora.
Didst thou not hear some body?
Conr.
No, 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora.
Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief
this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the
hot-bloods between fourteen and five and thirty, sometimes,
fashioning them like Pharao's soldiers in the
reachy Painting; sometimes, like the God Bel's
priests in the old church-window; 9 notesometimes, like
the shaven Hercules in the smirch worm-eaten tapestry,
where his codpiece seems as massie as his club.
Conr.
All this I see, and see, that the fashion wears
out more apparel than the man; but art not thou thy
self giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted
out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion?
Bora.
Not so neither; but know, that I have to
night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's Gentlewoman,
-- 52 --
by the name of Hero; she leans me out at her mistress's
chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night—
I tell this tale vildly—I should first tell thee, how the
Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed,
and possessed by my master Don John, saw a far off
in the orchard this amiable encounter.
Conr.
And thought they, Margaret was Hero?
Bora.
Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio;
but the devil my master knew, she was Margaret;
and partly by his oaths, which first possest them,
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,
but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any
slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio
enraged; swore, he would meet her as he was appointed
next morning at the Temple, and there before
the whole Congregation shame her with what he
saw o'er night, and send her home again without
a husband.
1 Watch.
We charge you in the Prince's name,
stand.
2 Watch.
Call up the right master constable; we
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery
that ever was known in the common-wealth.
1 Watch.
And one Deformed is one of them; I
know him, he wears a lock.
Conr.
Masters, masters,—
2 Watch.
You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I
warrant you.
Conr.
Masters,—
1 Watch.
Never speak; we charge you, let us obey
you to go with us.
Bora.
We are like to prove a goodly Commodity,
being taken up of these mens bills.
Conr.
A commodity in question, I warrant you:
come, we'll obey you.
[Exeunt.
-- 53 --
SCENE VI.
Hero's Apartment in Leonato's House.
Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula.
Hero.
Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and
desire her to rise.
Ursu.
I will, lady.
Hero.
And bid her come hither.
Ursu.
Well.
Marg.
Troth, I think, your other Rebato were
better.
Hero.
No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Marg.
By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant,
your cousin will say so.
Hero.
My cousin'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 saw the Dutchess of Milan's
gown, that they praise so.
Hero.
O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg.
By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect
of yours; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with
silver, set with pearls down-sleeves, side-sleeves and
skirts, round underborne with a blueish tinsel; but
for a fine, queint, graceful and excellent fashion,
your's is worth ten on't.
Hero.
God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is
exceeding heavy!
Marg.
'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a
man.
Hero.
Fie upon thee, art not asham'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
-- 54 --
would have me say (saving your reverence) a husband.
If bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend
no body; is there any harm in the heavier for a
Husband? none, I think, if it be the right Husband,
and the right wife, otherwise 'tis light and not heavy;
ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes.
SCENE VII.
Enter Beatrice.
Hero.
Good morrow, coz.
Beat.
Good morrow, sweet Hero.
Hero.
Why, how now? do you speak in the sick
tune?
Beat.
I am out of all other tune, methinks.
Marg.
Clap us into Light o' love; that goes without
a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it.
Beat.
Yes, Light o' love with your heels; then if
your husband have stables enough, you'll look he shall
lack no barns.
Marg.
O illegitimate construction! I scorn that
with my heels.
Beat.
'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time
you were ready: by my troth, I am exceeding ill;
hey ho!
Marg.
For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
Beat.
For the letter that begins them all, H.
Marg.
Well, if you be not 1 noteturn'd Turk, there's
no more sailing by the star.
Beat.
What means the fool, trow?
Marg.
Nothing I, but God send every one their
heart's desire!
Hero.
These gloves the count sent me, they are an
excellent perfume.
Beat.
I am stufft, cousin, I cannot smell.
-- 55 --
Marg.
A maid, and stufft! there's goodly catching
of cold.
Beat.
O, God help me, God help me, how long
have you profest apprehension?
Marg.
Ever since you left it; doth not my wit
become me rarely?
Beat.
It is not seen enough, you should wear it in
your cap. By my troth, I am sick.
Marg.
Get you some of this distill'd Carduus Benedictus,
and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing
for a qualm.
Hero.
There thou prick'st her with a thistle.
Beat.
Benedictus? why Benedictus? you have some
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, birlady,
I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I list
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 Benedick was such another, and
now is he become a man; he swore, he would never
marry; and yet now, in despight 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.
Beat.
What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?
Marg.
Not a false gallop.
Ursu.
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 dress me, good coz, good Meg, good
Ursula.
[Exeunt.
-- 56 --
SCENE VIII.
Another Apartment in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.
Leon.
What would you with me, honest neighbour?
Dogb.
Marry, Sir, I would have some confidence
with you, that decerns you nearly.
Leon.
Brief, I pray you; for, you see, '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, speaks a little of the
matter; an old man, Sir, and his wits are not so blunt,
as, God help, I would desire they were; but, in faith,
as honest as the skin between his brows.
&wlquo;Verg.
&wlquo;Yes, I thank God, 2 noteI am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester
than I.&wrquo;
Dogb.
Comparisons are odorous; palabras, neighbour
Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb.
It pleases your worship to say so, 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 tediousness on me, ha?
-- 57 --
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 so am I.
Leon.
I would fain know what you have to say.
Verg.
Marry, Sir, our Watch to night, excepting
your worship's presence, hath ta'en a couple of as arrant
knaves as any in Messina.
&wlquo;Dogb.
&wlquo;A good old man, Sir; he will be talking,
as they say; when the age is in, the wit is out; God
help us, it is a world to see: well said, i'faith,
neighbour Verges, well, he's a good man; an two
men ride an horse, one must ride behind; an honest
soul, i'faith, Sir, by my troth he is, as ever broke
bread, but God is to be worshipp'd; all men are
not alike, alas, good neighbour!&wrquo;
Leon.
Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
Dogb.
Gifts, that God gives.
Leon.
I must leave you.
Dogb.
One word, Sir; our Watch have, indeed,
comprehended two auspicious persons; and we would
have them this morning examin'd before your
worship.
Leon.
Take their examination your self, and bring
it me; I am now in great haste, as may appear unto
you.
Dogb.
It shall be suffigance.
Leon.
Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.
Leon.
I'll wait upon them. I am ready.
[Ex. Leon.
Dogb.
Go, good Partner, go get you to Francis Seacoale,
bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the jail;
we are now to examine those men.
-- 58 --
Verg.
And we must do it wisely.
&wlquo;Dogb.
&wlquo;We will spare for no wit, I warrant;
here's That shall drive some of them to a noncome.&wrquo;
Only get the learned writer to set down our
excommunication, and meet me at the Jail.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
