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 lived, I was your other wife : [Unmasking. And when you loved, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero!

Hero.

Nothing certainer :

One Hero dìed defiled; but I do live,

And, surely às I live, I'm innocent.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slànder 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:
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.

No; no more than reason.

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

Claudio,

Have been deceived; for they did swear you did. Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. No; no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sìck for

me.

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for mè.

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 hèr; 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,

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! our 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.

[Kissing her. 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 conclu

sion.-Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

JULIUS CÆSAR.