D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter,

That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

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;

Bene. It is no matter,-Then, you do not love me?
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentle-

man.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon 't, that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero.

And here's another,

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.

Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

Leon. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine.-Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar : I am your husband, if you like of me.

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: [Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero?

One Hero died belied'; but I do live,
And, surely as live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.
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:
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,

And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice?

Beat. I answer to that name. [Unmasking.] What is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?
Beat.

2

Why, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then, your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio,

Have been deceived, for they swore you did.
Beat. Do not you love me?
Bene.

Troth, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceived; for they swore3, you did.

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

1 defiled in fe. 2 No, no: in f. e. ↑ Dance: f. e.

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 witcrackers 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.

SCENE I.-Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it.
Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAINE.
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs,
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring time,
Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge,
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors !-for so you are,
That war against your own affections,
And the huge army of the world's desires,-
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force.
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world:
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Biron, Dumaine, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me,
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes,

That are recorded in this schedule here: [Showing it.1
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names,
That his own hand may strike his honour down,
That violates the smallest branch herein.
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep them too.
Long. I am resolv'd: 't is but a three years' fast.
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite2 the wits.
Dum. My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified.
The grosser manner of this world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die,
With all these living in philosophy.

Biron. I can but say their protestation over;
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years.

'1 Not in f. e. 2 From the quarto, 1598.

1

But there are other strict observances ;
As, not to see a woman in that term,
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there:
And, one day in a week to touch no food,
And but one meal on every day beside,
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there:
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day,
When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night, too, of half the day,
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there.
O! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please.

I only swore to study with your grace,
And stay here in your court for three years' space.
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
Biron. By yea, and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
What is the end of study, let me know?

King. Why, that to know which else we should not

know.

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.
Biron. Come on, then: I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know;
As thus,―to study where I well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid;
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be this, and this be so,
Study knows that which yet it doth not know.
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight.

Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but' that most vain,
Which, with pain purchas'd, dotâ inherit pain:
As painfully to pore upon a book,

To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile.
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;

Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,

And give him light that it was blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,

That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks : Small have continual plodders ever won,

Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profits of their shining nights,

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know is to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name.

King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.

Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding.

Dum. How follows that? Biron.

Fit in his place and time.

Dum. In reason nothing.
Biron.
Something, then, in rhyme.
King. Biron is like an envious sneaping2 frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
Biron. Well, say I am: why should proud summer

boast,

Before the birds have any cause to sing?

Why should I joy in any abortive birth?

At Christmas I no more desire a rose,

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, by study now it is too late,

Climb o'er the house-top to unlock the gate.3

King. Well, set you out: go home, Biron: adieu ! Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay

with you:

And, though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
Yet confident I'll keep to what I swore,*

And bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the paper: let me read the same;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
King. How well this yielding rescues thee from
shame!

Biron. [Reads.] Item, "That no woman shall come within a mile of my court."-Hath this been proclaim'd?

Long. Four days ago.

Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] "On pain of losing her tongue."-Who devis'd this penalty? Long. Marry, that did I. Biron.

Long. To fright them penalty.

Sweet lord, and why? hence with that dread

Biron. A dangerous law against garrulity." [Reads.] Item, "If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure

such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise."

This article, my liege, yourself must break;

For, well you know, here comes in embassy The French king's daughter with yourself to speak,— A maid of grace, and complete majesty,— About surrender up of Aquitain

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: Therefore, this article is made in vain,

Or vainly comes th' admired princess rather.

King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite

forgot.

Biron. So study evermore is overshot:

While it doth study to have what it would,

It doth forget to do the thing it should;

And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost.

King. We must of force dispense with this decree: She must lie here on mere necessity.

Birön. Necessity will make us all forsworn Three thousand times within this three years' space; For every man with his affects is born,

Not by might master'd, but by special grace.
If I break faith, this word shall plead for me,
I am forsworn on mere necessity.

So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes.
And he, that breaks them in the least degree,
Stands in attainder of eternal shame.
Suggestions' are to others, as to me
But, I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted ?

King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted

With a refined traveller of Spain;

A man in all the world-new fashions flaunted,8
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain:
One, whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;

A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,

For interim to our studies, shall relate

In high-born words the worth of many a knight
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I,
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie.
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.9

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight,

A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.
Long. Costard, the swain, and he shall be our sport;
And so to study three years is but short.

Enter DULL, with a letter, and COSTARD. Dull. Which is the duke's own person? Biron. This, fellow. What wouldst ? Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborough1o; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood.

Biron. This is he.

4 I'll keep

9 As a min

Arm. I have promised to study three years with the duke.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. Impossible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning: it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both: they are both the varnish of a complete man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three.
Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now, here is three studied ere you'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put years to the word thrẻe, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse2 will tell you.

Arm. A most fine figure!

Moth. [Aside.] To prove you a cypher.

small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me !

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and poetical3 !

Moth. If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known;

For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale white shown:
Then, if she fear, or be to blame,

By this you shall not know;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
Which native she doth owe*.

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar ?5

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since, but, I think, now 't is not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

Moth. [Aside.] To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master.

Arm. Sing, boy: my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

Arm. I say, sing.

Moth. Forbear, till this company be past.

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Most sweet Hercules!-More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great carriage; for he carried the town-gates on his back, like a porter, and he was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four.

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion.
Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir.

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions?

Moth. As I have read, sir, and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but

this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is
allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well.
Arm. I do betray myself with blushing.-Maid.
Jag. Man.

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's hereby.

Arm. I know where it is situate.
Jaq. Lord, how wise you are!

Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq. With that face?
Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so farewell.

Jaq. Fair weather after you.
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETtta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere thou be pardoned.

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished.

Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain: shut him up.
Moth. Come, you transgressing slave: away!