BEATRICE.

Beatrice. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no?

Messenger. I know none of that name, lady; there was none such in the army of any sort.

Leonato. What is he that you ask for, niece?

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua.

Messenger. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beatrice. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the flight and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.-I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. Leonato. 'Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Messenger. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

Beatrice. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach

Messenger. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beatrice. And a good soldier to a lady:-But what is he to a lord?

Messenger. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.

Beatrice. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:-But for the stuffing,-Well, we are all mortal.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.-Act I. Scene I.

HERO.

Claudio. 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.
Claudio. Another Hero!

Hero.

Nothing certainer;

One Hero died defil'd; but I do live,

And, surely as I live, I am a maid.

Don Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leonato. 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.

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

Beatrice. I answer to that name; [Unmasking.] What is

your will?

Benedick. Do not you love me?

Beatrice.

Why, no, no more than reason.

Benedick. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived; for they swore you did.

Beatrice. Do not you love me?

Benedick. Troth, no, no more than reason.

Beatrice. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,

Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.

Benedick. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beatrice. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Benedick. 'Tis no such matter:-Then you do not love me. Beatrice. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leonato. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claudio. 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,

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

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.-Act V. Scene IV.