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To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. Leon. Call her forth, brother; here's the friar ready. [Exit Antonio. Why, what's the 40
D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick.
That you have such a February face,
Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull. Tush, fear not, man; we'll tip thy horns with gold And all Europa shall rejoice at thee,
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow,
Claud. For this I owe you here comes other reckonings.
Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar and swear to marry her.
Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Give me your hand: before this holy friar, I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife :
And when you loved, you were my other husband.
Nothing certainer :
D. Pedro. The former Hero!
Hero that is dead!
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; When after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: Meantime let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? Beat. [Unmasking] I answer to that name. your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?
Why, no; no more than reason.
Bene. Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio Have been deceived; they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?
Bene. Troth, no; no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and Ursula Are much deceived; for they did swear you did.
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. 80 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't that he loves her; For here's a paper written in his own hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.
And here's another
Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Bene. A 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 persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.
Bene. Peace! I will stop your mouth.
D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and love my cousin.
Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends. let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels.
Leon. We'll have dancing afterward.
Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince,
thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina.
Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers. 130 [Dance. Exeunt.
SCENE I. The king of Navarre's park.
Enter FERDINAND, king of NAVARRE, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN.
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Therefore, brave conquerors,-for so you are,
Still and contemplative in living art.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
That are recorded in this schedule here:
Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
Long. I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified :
Biron. I can but say their protestation over;
Ring. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.
King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know.