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Throttle their practis'd accents in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.


The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.


Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,

All with wearý task fordone*. Now the wasted brands do glow,

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe,

In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night,

That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite,

In the church-way paths to glide.



PEACE INSPIRES LOVE. But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires,

* Overcomes

All prompting me how fair young Hero is.

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, And tire the hearer witb a book of words: If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; And I will break with her, and with her father, And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end, That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, That know love's grief by his complexion! But lest my liking might too sudden seem, I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader

than the flood ? The fairest grant is the necessity: Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once*, thou lov'st; And I will fit thee with the remedy. I know we shall have reveling to night; I will assume thy part in some disguise, And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart.



Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into bloodt.


It is the witness still of excellency, To put a strange face on his own perfection, * Once for all.

+ Passion.

BENEDICT THE BACHELOR'S RECANTATION. This can be no trick: The conference was sadly borne*.—They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me! why it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection.—I did never think to marry:-I must not seem proud: Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say, the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness: and virtuous; 'tis

So, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but for loving me:-By my troth, it is no addition to her wit;—nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her.-I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage:But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper

bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour ? No: The world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.-Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.



Bid her steal into the pleached bower,

* Seriously carried on.

Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter ;-like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it.


Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising* what they look on; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd; She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister; If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, Made foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed; If low, an agate very vilely cut: If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind: If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out; And never gives to truth and virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.



DISSIMULATION. O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! Comes not that blood as modest evidence, To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, All

you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows? But she is none:

* Undervaluing

She knows the heat of a luxurious* bed:
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's framet?
0, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins ?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she—0, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again.


I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth.

RESOLUTION. 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, * Lascivious. + Disposition of things.

# Sullicd.

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