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you take pains to thank me”- that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks :- if I do not take pity on her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a jew :- I will go get her picture.
ACT THE THIRD.
LEON ATO's Garden.
Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA. Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour; There shalt thou find my cousin, Beatrice; 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, To listen our propose: This is thy office, Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently.
[Exit MARGARET. Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 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
Enter BEATRICE, on one side.
Urs. But are you sure,
Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.
Ui's. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
Hero. O, god of love ! I know, he doth deserve
Urs. Sure, I think so;
Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featurd, But she would spell him backward : if fair-fac’d, She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sişter; If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill headed; If low, an agate very vilely cut: If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every iñan the wrong side out; And never gives to truth and virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commend
able. Hero. But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She'd mock me into air; 0, 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.
Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.
Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick,
Urs. Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong;
Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name:
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. When are you married, madam?
Hero. Why, every day;--to-morrow.
Urs. She's lim’d, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam.
Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
[Exeunt Hero and URSULA.
BEATRICE advances. Beatr. What fire is in mine ears ? Can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd, for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell! 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, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our hopes up in a holy band : For others say, thou dost deserve; and I Believe it better than reportingly.
A Hall in LeoNATO's House.'
Enter Don PEDRO, LEONATO, CLAUDIO, and
BENEDICK. 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 voucbsafe me.
Pedro. Nay, I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole 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.
Bened. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
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 money.
Bened. I have the tooth-ache.
Bened. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it.
Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing of old signs : he brushes his hat o' mornings: what should that bode?
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,
Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now crept into a lutestring.
Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude, 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 despite of all, dies for him.
Pedro. She shall be buried with her face upwards.
Bened. Yet this is no charm for the tooth-ache.-Old signior, walk aside with me; I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO.