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And to the chapel let us prefently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice? Beat. I anfwer to that name;

What is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. Why, no, no more than reafon.

Bene. Why then your uncle, and the prince, and

Claudio,

Have been deceived; they fwore

Beat. Do not love me?

you

you did.

Bene. Troth, no, no more than reafon.

Beat. Why then my coufin, Margaret, and Urfula, Are much deceiv'd; for they did fwear you did. Bene. They fwore, that you were almost fick for me. Beat. They fwore, that you were well nigh dead

for me.

Bene. 'Tis no fuch matter:

love me?

-Then, you do not

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompence.

Leon. Come, coufin, I am fure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I'll be fworn upon't, that he loves her; For here's a paper written in his hand,

A halting fonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another,

Writ in my coufin's hand, ftolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. Å miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts!- -Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I'take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you;-but, by this good day, I yield upon great perfuafion; and, partly, to fave your life, for I was told you were in a confumption. Bene. Peace, I will ftop your mouth.

[Kiffing her. Pedro,

Pedro. How doft thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dot thou think, I care for a fatire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he fhall wear nothing handsome about him: In brief, fince I do purpofe to marry, I will think nothing to any purpofe that the world can fay against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have faid against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclufion.For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinfman, live unbruis'd, and love my coufin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgell'd thee out of thy fingle life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my coufin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends let's have a dance ere we are marry'd, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, mufic.Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife! there is no staff more reverend than one tipt with horn.

Enter a Meffenger.

Me. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in fight, And brought with armed men back to Meffina.

Bene. Think not on him 'till to-morrow: I'll devife thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers.

Dance.

[Exeunt omnes.

THE END.

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