Forbid the Sun to enter; like to Favourites,
Made proud by Princes, that advance their pride
Againft that power that bred it: there will the hide
To liften our Purpofe; this is thy office.
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

[her,

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant prefently.

[Exit.

Hero. Now, Urfula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our Talk muft only be of Benedick;
When I do name him, let it be thy Part
To praise him more than ever man did meṛit.
My Talk to thee muft be, how Benedick
Is fick in love with Beatrice; of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hear-fay: now begin.

Enter Beatrice, running towards the Arbour.
For look, where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground to hear our conference.
Urfu. The pleasant'ft angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the filver ftream,
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.

[thing

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose no

Of the falfe fweet bait that we lay for it.-
No, truly, Urfula, fhe's too difdainful;

I know, her fpirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.

Urfu. But are you fure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice fo intirely?

Hero. So fays the Prince, and my new-trothed lord. Urfu. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam? Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it ;

But I perfuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,

Το

To wish him wraftle with affection,

1

And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urfu. Why did you fo? doth not the Gentleman Deferve as full, as fortunate a bed,

As ever Beatrice fhall couch upon?

Hero. O God of love! I know, he doth deferve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder ftuff than that of Beatrice.
Difdain and fcorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Mif-prizing what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her

All matter else feems weak; fhe cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is fo felf-indeared.

Urfu. Sure, I think so;

And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, left she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth. I never yet faw man,
How wife, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward; if fair-fac'd,
She'd fwear, the gentleman fhould be her fifter;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a launce ill-headed;
*If low, an Aglet very vilely cut;

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;

If low, an Agat very vilely cut;] But why an Agat, if low? For what Likeness between a little Man and an Agat? The Ancients, indeed, used this Stone to cut upon; but very exquifitely. I make no Question but the Poet wrote;

an Aglet very vilely cut;

An Aglet was the Tag of those Points, formerly so much in Fashion. These Tags were either of Gold, Silver, or Brass, according to the Quality of the Wearer; and were commonly in the Shape of little Images; or at least had a Head cut at the extremity. The French call them aiguillettes. Mezeray, fpeaking of Henry IIId's Sorrow for the Death of the Princefs of Conti, fays,--portant meme fur fes aiguillettes de petites tetes de Mort. And as a tall Man is before compar'd to a Launce ill-headed; fo, by the fame Figure, a little Man is very aptly liken'd to an Aglet ill-cut.

If filent, why a block moved with none.
So turns fhe

every man the wrong

fide out, And never gives to truth and virtue That, Which fimpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urfu. Sure, fure, fuch carping is not commendable. Hero. No; for to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable.

But who dare tell her fo? if I fhould fpeak,
She'd mock me into air; O, fhe would laugh me
Out of myself, prefs me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Confume away in fighs, wafte inwardly;
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which is as bad as 'tis to die with tickling.
Urfu. Yet tell her of it; hear what the will fay.
Hero. No, rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion.
And, truly, I'll devife fome honeft flanders
To ftain my Coufin with; one doth not know,
How much an ill word may impoifon liking.

Urfu. O, do not do your Cousin such a wrong. She cannot be fo much without true judgment, (Having fo fwift and excellent a wit,

As fhe 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.

Urfu. I pray you, be not angry with me, Madam, Speaking my fancy; Signior Benedick,

For fhape, for bearing, argument and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urfu. 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 fhew thee fome attires, and have thy counfel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow..

Urfu.

Urfu. She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught her, Madam.

Hero. If it prove fo, then loving goes by haps; Some Cupids kill with arrows, fome with traps.

*

Beatrice, advancing.

[Exeunt.

Beat. What fire is in my ears? can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for Pride and Scorn fo much? Contempt, farewel! and maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of fuch. And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou doft love, thy kindness fhall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band.

For others fay, thou doft deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly.

[Exit.

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato.

Pedro.

I

Do but ftay 'till your marriage be confummate, and then go I toward Arragon. Claud, I'll bring you thither my lord, if you'll vouchfafe me.

Pedro. Nay, That would be as great a foil in the new glofs of your marriage, as to fhew 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 fole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowftring, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as found as a bell, and his tongue

What fire is in my ears?] Alluding to a proverbial Saying of the common People, that their Ears burn when others are talking of them.

is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue fpeaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So fay I; methinks, you are fadder.
Claud. I hope, he is in love.

Pedro. Hang him, truant, there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love; if he be fad, he wants money.

Bene. I have the tooth-ach.

Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it.

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

Pedro. What? figh 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 fay I, he is in love.

Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to ftrange disguises, as to be a Dutch man to day, a French man to morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, a German from the waste downward, all flops; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: 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 fome woman, there is no believing old figns; he brushes his hat o'mornings; what fhould 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 ftuft tennis-balls.

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did by the lofs of a beard.

Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet; can you fmell him out by that?

Claud.