And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.

Leon. I know not; If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,

Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.

Friar.

Pause a while,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead;"
Let her awhile be secretly kept in.

And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning ostentation;7
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that, dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.

She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,

fore, Benedick says of Beatrice, her affection has its full bent. The expression is derived from archery; the bow has its bent, when it is drawn as far as it can be. Johnson.

6 Your daughter here the princes left for dead;] In former copies, Your daughter here the princess (left for dead;)

But how comes Hero to start up a princess here? We have no intimation of her father being a prince; and this is the first and only time she is complimented with this dignity. The remotion of a single letter, and of the parenthesis, will bring her to her own rank, and the place to its true meaning:

Your daughter here the princes left for dead;

i. e. Don Pedro, prince of Arragon; and his bastard brother, who is likewise called a prince." Theobald.

7 · ostentation;] Show, appearance. Johnson.

Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it so falls out,

8

That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours:-
:-So will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,9
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep

Into his study of imagination;

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate, and full of life,

of his soul,

Than when she liv'd indeed:-then shall he mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver1)
And wish he had not so accused her;

No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
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 supposition of the lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
(As best befits her wounded reputation)
In some reclusive and religious life,

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

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you: And though, you know, my inwardness2 and love

8 we rack the value;] i. e. we exaggerate the value. The allusion is to rack-rents. The same kind of thought occurs in Antony and Cleopatra:

9

"What our contempts do often hurl from us,

"We wish it ours again." Steevens.

died upon his words,] i. e. died by them. So, in Midsummer Night's Dream:

"To die upon the hand I love so well," Steevens.

1 If ever love had interest in his liver,] The liver, in conformity to ancient supposition, is frequently mentioned by Shakspeare as the seat of love. Thus Pistol represents Falstaff as loving Mrs. Ford-" with liver burning hot." Steevens.

Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly, and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon.

Being that I flow in grief,

The smallest twine may lead me.3

Friar. 'Tis well consented; presently away;

For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.— Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day,

Perhaps, is but prolong'd; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt FRIAR, HERO, and LEON. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

Bene. I will not desire that.

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

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

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

2 — my inwardness-] i. e. intimacy. Thus Lucio, in Measure for Measure, speaking of the Duke, says "I was an inward of his." Again, in King Richard III:

"Who is most inward with the noble duke?" Steevens.

3 The smallest twine may lead me.] This is one of our author's observations upon life. Men overpowered with distress, eagerly listen to the first offers of relief, close with every scheme, and believe every promise. He that has no longer any confidence in himself, is glad to repose his trust in any other that will undertake to guide him. Johnson.

4 Lady Beatrice, &c.] The poet, in my opinion, has shown a great deal of address in this scene. Beatrice here engages her lover to revenge the injury done her cousin Hero: and without this very natural incident, considering the character of Beatrice, and that the story of her passion for Benedick was all a fable, she could never have been easily or naturally brought to confess she loved him, notwithstanding all the foregoing preparation. And yet, on this confession, in this very place, depended the whole success of the plot upon her and Benedick. For had she not owned her love here, they must have soon found out the trick, and then the design of bringing them together had been defeated; and she would never have owned a passion she had been only tricked into, had not her desire of revenging her cousin's wrong Warburton. made her drop her capricious humour at once.

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

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you; Is not that strange?

beat. As strange as the thing I know not: It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing:-I am sorry for my cousin.

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says, I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it: I protest, I love thee.

Beat. Why then, God forgive me!

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to protest, I loved you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. I love you with so 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 it: Farewel.

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

Beat. I am gone, though I am here;5-There is no love in you:-Nay, I pray you, let me go.

Bene. Beatrice,

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

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

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy?

6

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that

5 I am gone, though I am here;] i. e. I am out of your mind already, though I remain here in person before you. Steevens. I cannot approve of Steevens's explanation of these words, and believe Beatrice means to say, "I am gone," that is, "I am lost to you, though I am here." In this sense Benedick takes them, and desires to be friends with her. M. Mason.

Or, perhaps, my affection is withdrawn from you, though I am yet here. Malone.

hath slander'd, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman? O, that I were a man!-What! bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then with publick accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,-O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice.

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

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice;

Beat. Sweet Hero!-she is wrong'd, she is slander'd, she is undone.

Bene. Beat

9

Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count-confect; a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies,1 valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too:2 he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears 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.

6 in the height a villain,] So, in King Henry VIII: "He's a traitor to the height."

"In præcipiti vitium stetit." Juv. I, 149. Steevens.

7

bear her in hand-] i. e. delude her by fair promises. So, in Macbeth:

8

"How you were borne in hand, how cross'd," &c. Steevens. and counties!] County was the ancient general term for a nobleman. See a note on the County Paris in Romeo and Juliet. Steevens.

9

a goodly count-confect;] i. e. a specious nobleman made out of sugar. Steevens.

1

into courtesies,] i. e. into ceremonious obeisance, like the courtesies dropped by women. Thus, in Othello: "Very good; well kiss'd! an excellent courtesy "

Again, in King Richard III:

2

"Duck with French nods, and apish courtesy." Steevens.

and men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones too:] Mr. Heath would read tongues, but he mistakes the construction of the sentence, which is not only men but trim ones, are turned into tongue, i. e. not only common, but clever men, &c.

Stcevens.