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Friar. Paufe a while,

And let my counfel fway you in this cafe.
Your daughter here the Princes left for dead; (17)
Let her a while be fecretly kept in,

And publish it, that the is dead, indeed :
Maintain a mourning oftentation,
And on your family's old Monument
Hang mournful Epitaphs, and do all rites

That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What fhall become of this? what will this do F Friar. Marry, this, well carry'd, fhall on her behalf Change flander to remorfe; that is fome good; But not for that dream I on this ftrange course, But on this travel look for greater birth; She dying, as it must be fo maintain'd, Upon the inftant that she was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd, Of every hearer: for it fo falls out,

That what we have we prize not to the worth, (18)

(17) Your Daughter bere the Princefs (left for dead) But how comes Hero to flart up a Princess here? We have no intimation of her father being a Prince; and this is the firft and only time that the is complimented with this dignity. The remotion of a single letter, and of the Parentbefis, will bring her to her own rank, and the place to its true meaning.

Your Daughter bere the Princes left for dead;

i. e. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon; and his Baftard Brother who is likewife called a Prince. So in the other paffages of this Play; To burn the error that these Princes bold

Again ber Maiden Honour.

And again.

There is fome frange Misprifion in these Princes.
And again,

I thank you, Princes, for my Daughter's Death.

(18) That, what we have, we prize not to the Worth,
While we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,

Why, then we rack the Value; then we find
The Virtue that Poffeffion would not few us

Whilft is was ours ---------] Whether this be an imita

tion, or no, I won't contend; but if not, it feems to me a very fine paraphrafe on this paffage of Horace; Lib. III, Ode 24.

Virtutem incolumem odimus,
Sublatam ex oculis quærimus invidi.

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Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not shew us
Whilft it was ours; fo will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear the dy'd upon his words,
Th`idea of her life fhall fweetly creep
Into his study of imagination,

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit;
More moving, delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and profpect of his fou!,
Than when the liv'd indeed.

Then fhall he mourn,

If ever love had interest in his liver,

And with, he had not fo accused her;
No, though he thought his accufation true :
Let this be fo, and doubt not, but fuccefs
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The fuppofition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy.
And, if it fort not well, you may conceal her,
As beft befits her wounded reputation,
In fome reclufive and religious life,

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though, you know, my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As fecretly and juftly, as your foul

Should with your body.

Leon. Being that I flow in grief,

The smallest twine may lead me.

Friar. "Tis well confented, presently away;

For to ftrange fores, ftrangely they ftrain the cure.

Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day,

Perhaps, is but prolong'd: have patience and en

dure.

[Exeunt.

Manent

Manent Benedick and Beatrice.

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

Bene. I will not defire that.

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely.

Bene. Surely, I do believe, your fair coufin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to fhew fuch friendship?
Beat. A very even way, but no fuch friend.
Bene. May a man do it?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.

Bene. I do love nothing in the world fo well as you; is not that ftrange?

Beat. As ftrange as the thing I know not; it were as poffible for me to fay, I lov'd nothing fo well as you; but believe me not; and yet I lye not; I confefs nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am forry for my cousin. Bene. By my fword, Beatrice, thou lov'ft me. Beat. Do not fwear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will fwear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that fays, I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no fauce that can be devis'd to it; I proteft, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me!

Bene. What offence, fweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have ftay'd me in a happy hour; I was

about to proteft, I lov'd you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. I love you with fo much of my heart, that

none is left to protest.

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claudio.

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny; farewel.

Bene. Tarry, fweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love

in you; nay, I pray you, let me go.

Bene.

Bene. Beatrice,

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

Beat. You dare eafier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath flander'd, fcorn'd, difhonour'd my kinfwoman! O that I were a man! what bear her in hand until they come to stake hands, and then with public accufation, uncover'd flander, unmitigated rancour - O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ?proper faying!

Bene. Nay, but Beatrice.

a

Beat. Sweet Hero! fhe is wrong'd, she is flander'd, fhe is undone.

Bene. Beat

Beat. Princes and Counts! furely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-comfect, a fweet gallant, furely! O that I were a man for his fake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my fake! but manhood is melted into curtefies, valour into compliment, and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too; he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and fwears it; I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand I love thee. Beat. Ufe it for my love fome other way than swear. ing by it.

Bene. Think you in your foul, the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero?

Beat. Yea, as fure as I have a thought or a foul.

Bene. Enough, I am engag'd, I will challenge him, I will kifs your hand, and fo leave you; by this hand, Claudio fhall render me a dear account; as you hear of me, fo think of me; go comfort your coufin; I must fay, she is dead, and fo farewel. [Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE changes to a Prison.

Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the Town-Clerk and Sexton in Gowns.

To. Cl.

I

S our whole diffembly appear'd?

Dog. O, a ftool and a cushion for the fexton! Sexton. Which be the malefactors?

Verg. Marry, that am I and my Partner.

Dog. Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition to

examine.

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examin'd? let them come before mafter conftable.

To. Cl. Yea, marry, let them come before me; what is your name, friend?

Bora. Borachio.

To. Cl. Pray write down, Borachio. Yours, Sirrah ? Conr. I am a gentleman, Sir, and my name is Conrade.

To. Cl. Write down, mafter gentleman Conrade; mafters, do you serve God?

Both. Yea, Sir, we hope. (19)

To. Cl. Write down, that they hope they ferve God; and write God first: for God defend, but God should go before fuch villains.-Mafters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves, and it will go near to be thought fo fhortly; how answer you for yourselves?

Conr. Marry, Sir, we fay, we are none.

To. Cl. A marvellous witty fellow, I affure you, but I will go about with him. Come you hither, firrah, a word in your ear, Sir; I fay to you, it is thought you are both falfe knaves.

(19) Both. Yea, Sir, we hope.

To. Cl. Write down, that they hope, they ferve God: and write God firft, for God defend, but God fhould go before fuch Villains-] This fhort paffage, which is truly humorous and in character, I have added from the old Quarto. Befides, it supplies a defect: for, without it, the Town-Clark afks a queftion of the prifoners, and goes on without ftaying for any answer to it.

Bora.

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