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Dogb. Why, then depart in Peace, and let the child wake her with crying for the ewe that will not bear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when be 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 Státues, 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 fo.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! well, masters, good night : an there be any matter of weight chances, call

up me; keep your fellow's counfels and your own, and good night ; come, neighbour.

2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge; let us go fit here upon the church-bench 'till two, and then all to bed.

Dogb. One word more, honeft 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 befeech you.

(Exeunt Dogberry and Vergess Enter Boracbio and Conrade. Bora. What?' Conrade. Watch. Peace, ftir not.

[Afade, Bora. Conrade, I say. Conr. Here, Man, I am at thy elbow.

Bora, Mass, and my elbow itch'd, I thought there would a fcab follow.

Conr. I will owe thee an answer for that, and now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, ütter all to thee.

Watcb.

Watch. Some Treason, masters ; yet stand close.

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don Jobs a thousand ducats.

Conr. Is it possible that any Villany should be fo dear?

Bora. Thou should't rather ask, if it were possible any villany 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, thou art unconfirm'd; thou know. eft, that the falhion 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 falhion is the fashion,

Bora. Tuh, I may as well say, the fool's the Fool; but see'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion is ?

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. Didit thou not hear some body?
Conr. No, 'twas the vane on the house.

Bora. Seeft thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fahion is ? how giddily he turns about all the hotbloods between fourteen and five and thirty; sometimes, falhioning them like Pharoah's soldiers in the reachy Painting, sometimes, like the God Bel's priests in the old church-window; sometimes, like the shaven Hercules in the smirch'd worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as maffie as his club.

Conr. All this I see, and fee, that the falhion 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, by the name of Hero; the 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, faw 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 pofleft them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any Nander that Don Jobn 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 fame her with what he saw o'er night, and send her home again without a husband.

I Watch. We charge you in the Prince's name, stand.

2 Watch. Call up the right master constable; we have here recover'd the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

i Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock.

Conr. Masters, masters, (12)

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.

(12) Conr. Mafters, masters, 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant yox.

Conr. Mafters, never speak, we charge you, let us obey you to go with us.] The different Regulation which I have made in this last Speech, tho' against the Authority of all the printed Copies, I Aatter myself, carries its Proof with it. Conrade and Borachio are not design'd to talk absurd Nonsense [that is the diftinguishing Characteristick of the Constable and Watcb.] It is evident therefore, that Conrade is attempting his own Justification ; but is interrupted in it by the Impertinence of the Men in Office. Vol. II.

Conr.

Conr. A commodity in question, I warrant you : come, we'll obey you.

[Exeunt. SCENE, Hero's Apartment in Leonato's House.

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero.GOD Ursula, wake my coufin Beatrice

, and to 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 ear none but this.

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner ; and your gown's a most 'n rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the Dutchess 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 respect of yours ; cloth of gold and cuts, and lac'd with silver, set with pearls down-deeves, fide-sleeves and skirts, round underborne with a blueish tinsel ; 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.

Mar. "Twill be heavier foon 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 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 i ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes.

Enter

Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow, coz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now do you speak in the fick 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, coufin; '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 turn'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 defire!

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am stufft, cousin, I cannot smell.

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

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

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 fick.

you

some of this distillid Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualın.

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedi&tus ? why Benedi&tus ? you have some moral in this Benedictus.

C 2

Marg,

Marg. Get

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