l.iic. Ne'er may T look on day; nor steep on night. But she tells to your highness simple truth.

Am*. O perjur'd woman I TheySure both forsworn: In this the madman justly chargeth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturb'd with the eii'ect of wine, Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire. Albeit my wrong?, might make one wiser mad. Tins woman locfc'd me out this day from dinner: That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her. Could witness it. for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch n chain. Promising to bring it to the Porcupine. Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him: in the street I met hiin. And in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjnr'd goldsmith swear me down, That 1 this day of him receiv'd the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey; and sent my peasant home For certain ducats : he with none retum'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer To go in person with me to iny house. By tlie way we met

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more

Of vile confederates. Along wiili thein

They brought one Pinch, a rtutigry lean-fae'd villain,

A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,

A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,

A living dead man. This pernicious slave,

Forsooth, took on him as a conjuror;

And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling iny pulse,

And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me.

Cries out, I was posscss'd. Then, altogether

They fell upon me. bound me, bore me thence,

And in a dark and dankish vault at home

They left me and my man, both bound together;

Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder

I gain'd my freedom, and immediately

Kan hither to your grace; whom I beseech

To give me ample satisfaction

For these deep shames and great indignities.

Aug. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him. That lie dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? - Aug. He had, my lord ; and when he ran in here. These people saw the chain about his neck.

Sec. Afer. Besides, I will he sworn these ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart:
And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here.
From whence. I think, you arc come by miracle.

Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls;
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help ine heaven!
And ihis is false you burden me withal.

Duke. Why. what an intricate impeach is this I
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you t

D>'o. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porcupine, [ring

Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that

Ant. /;. 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do sec your grace.

Duke. Why, this is strange.—Go call the abbess hither. \Exit an Attendant.

I think you are all mated, or stark mad. [word:

AEge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a Haply, I see a friend will save iny life, Ami pay the sum that may deliver me.

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.

Aige. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus T And is not that your bondman Dromio:

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir; But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two mv cords: Now am I Dromio. and his man, unbound.

Aige. I am sure you both of you remember me.

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by You;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You arc not Pinch's patient, are you, sir!

Aige. Why look you strange on me? you know me

An!. E. 1 never saw you in my life, till now. [welL

Aige. O, grief hath chang'd me. since you saw ma And careinl hours, with Time's deformed hand, [last; Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know iny voice?

Ant. E. Neither.

Aige. Dromio. nor thou?

Dro. E. No. trust me, sir. nor I.

Aige. I am sure thou dost.

Dro. E. Ay, sir; but 1 am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

Aige. Not know my voice? O, time's extremity 1 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow. And all the conduits of my blood froze up. Yet hath my night of life some memory. My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left. My dull deaf ears a little use to near: All these old witnesses—I cannot err— Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw iny father in my life.

Aige. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son. Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city,
Can witness with mc that it is not so:
I ne'er saw Svracusa in my life.

Duke. 1 tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have 1 been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa.
1 see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Reenter Abbess, with Antipholus of Syracuse and
Dromio of Syracuse,
Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much
wrong'd. \ A11 gather to see him.

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me I
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other;
And so of these: which is the natural man,
Ami which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
Dro. S. i, sir. am Dromio: command hiin away.
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray let me stay.
Ant. S. /Egeon, art thou hot? or else his ghost?
Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath l>ound him
here?

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds.
And gain a husband by his libertv.
Speak, old Pigeon, it thou be'st the man
Thou hadst a wife once called Emilia,
That boie thee at a burden two fair sons:
O, if thou be'st the same ^.geon, speak.
And speak unto the same /Emilia t

Aige. If I dream not, thou art /Emilia;
If thou art she, tell me where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Abb. By men of Fpidamnum, he and I,
And the twin Dromio. all were taken up;
But by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them*
And me they left with those of Epidatmnun.
What then became of them, 1 cannot tell;
[, to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke. Why, here hegins his morning story right I
These two Antiphohiscs, these two so like.
And these two Dromios, one in semblance,—
Besides her urging of her wreck .at sea ;—
These are the parents to these children.
Which accidentally are met together;—
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first?

Ant. No, sir, not I ; 1 came from Syracuse.

Duke. Stay, stand apart; 1 know not which is which.

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.— -<rli

Dro. E. And 1 with him. [warrior.

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Adr. Which of you two did d.ne with me to-day?

Ant. S, I, gent e mistress.

Adr. Ami are not you my husband!

Ant. H. No; I say nay to that.

✓/nt. S. Ami so do I; yet did she call me so; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. Did call mo bruther, — What I told you then.

I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which yon had of me.

Ant. S. I think it be. sir; I deny it not. ,

Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested ine.

Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

Adr. I sent you money, sir. to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

Dro. E. No, none by me.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, And Dromio, my man. did bring them me. I see, we still did meet each other's man; And I was ta'en for him, and he for me; And thereupon these Errors are arose.

Ant. is. These ducats pawn I for my father here.

Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his life.

Cour. Sir, I must hav« that diamond from you.

Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for mj good cheer.

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here, Andhear at large discoursed all our fortunes ;— And all that are assembled in this place. That by this sympathized one day s error Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company. And we shall make full satisfaction.— Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; nor, till this "present hour, My heavy burdens are delivered.— The duke, my husband, and my children both,

And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossips feast, and go with ine:
After so long grief, such nativity!
Duke, With all my heart ; I'll gossip at this feast.

[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, /F.geon, Courtezan,
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants.
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship-
board? [bark d I
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou cm-
Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in'tiie Cen-
taur. [Dromio:
Ant. S. He speaks to me.—I am your master,
Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon:
Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E.,
Adr. and. Luc.

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house,
That kitchen"d me for you to-day at dinner:
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. [brother: Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.

Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it?

Dro. S. We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first.

Dro. E. Nay, then, thus: We came into the world like brother and brother; And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.

[Exeunt.

ACT I.

SCENE J.—Grounds adjoining Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a Messenger.

Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him. faction?

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio.

■ Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro. He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how. [very much glad of it.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be

Mess. 1 have already de tvered him letters, and there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that joy could not show itself modest enough without a Dadge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. Id great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping I

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

Mess. I know none of that name, iady : there was none such in the army of any sort.

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

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua.

Mess. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

Beat. 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 many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, 1 doubt it not.

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

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

Mess. And a good soldier, too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady;—but what is he to a lord? [with all honourable virtues.

Afess, A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed

Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man : but for the stuffing—Well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not. sir, mistake my niece; there is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and her: they never meet, but there's a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he j^ets nothing by that! In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if lie have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that lie hath left, to be known a reasonable creature.—Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn

Mess. Is't possible; [brother.

Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

Beat. No; an' he were, I would hum my study. But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Clandio.

Beat. OLord! he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.

Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You will ne'er run mad, niece.

Beat. No, not till a hot January.

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthazar.

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come tc meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes its leave.

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter.

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?

Iston. Signior Benedick, no; for then you were a child.

D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick : we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself.—Be happy, lady; for you are like an honourable father.

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, at like him as she is.

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick: nobody marks you.

Bene. What, inyuearlady Disdain lareyouyetliving?

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick' Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat.—But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and 1 would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for, truly, I love none.

Beat. A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour foi that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall "scape a predestinate scratched face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.

Bene. Well, yon are a rare parrot-teacher, [your?.

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast i f

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your ongue, and so good a contmuer. But keep your way, > God's name: 1 have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Leonato,—stemc Claudio. and signior Benedick, — my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell hurt we shall stay j

here at the least a month ; and he heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart.

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.—Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, 1 owe you all duty.

D. John. 1 thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.

Leon. Please it your grace lead on I

D. Pedro. Your hand, I .eonato. we will go together.

[ Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio.

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato r

Bene. 1 noted her not ; but I looked on her.

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady?

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as beinga professed tyrant to their sex?

Claud. No; I pray thee, speak in sober judgment.

Bene. Why, i' faitn, methinks she's too low for a high prnise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can arTord her: that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her.

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee, tell me truly how thou likest her.

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her 1

Claud. Can the world buy such a^eweli

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak yon this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a raqa carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song 1

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.

Bene. 1 can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter: there's her cousin, an" she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the last of December. But 1 hope, you have no intent to turn husband, have you?

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn to the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

Bene. Is't come to this, i'faith? Hath not the world one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall i never see a bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i' faith; an' thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you.

Re-cuter Don Pedro.

D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonato's?

Bene. 1 would your grace would constrain me to tell.

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.

Bene. You hear. Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man, I would have you think so; but on my allegiance,—mark you this, on my allegiance.—He is in love. With who?—now that is your grace's part. —Mark, how short his answer is;—with Hero, Leonato's short daughter.

Claud. If this were so, so were it littered.

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: it is not so, nor 'twas not so; but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should he otherwise.

D. Pedro. Ainen, if ynu love her; for the lady is very well worthy.

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.

Claud. And in faith, my lord, 1 spoke mine.

Bene. And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I

Claud. That 1 love her, I feel. [spoke mine.

D. Pedro. That she is worthy. I know.

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, uor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion hat fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the stake.

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic m !iie despite of beauty.

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in t!i« force of his will.

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; i hat she brought me up, 1 likewise give her most humble thanks: but that 1 will have a recheat winded in :ny forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible haldrick, .til women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the

D. yohn. Let us to the great supper: their cheer isMhe greater, that I am subdued, would the cook were of my mind!—Shall we go prove what's to I done?

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—A Mz//in Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, andothers. Leon. Was not count John here at supper I Ant. I saw him not.

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! 1 never can see him, but 1 am heart-burned an hour after.

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

Beat. He were an excellent man. that were made just in the mid-way between huu and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling.

Leon. Then, half signior Benedict's tongue in count John's mouth, and half count Johns melancholy signior Benedick's face,—

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,—if he could get her good will.

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

Ant. In faith she is too curst.

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's sending that way; for it is said, "God sends a curst cow short homs;" but to a cow too curst he sends none. [horn:

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you r

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord! 1 could not endure a husband with a beard on his face : I had rather lie in the woollen.

Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.

Beat. What should I do with him! dress him in my apparel, and make hiin my waiting-gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a youth ; and he that hath no beard is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is than a man, I am not for hiin: therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bearward, and lead his apes into hell. Leon. Well, then, go you into hell? Beat. No; but to the gate ; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, "Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here's no place for you maids:" so deliver 1 up my apes, and away to Saint Peter: for the heavens, he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live

we as merry as the day is long.

Ant. | To Hero.] Wei' ruled by your father.

Ant. | To Hero.] Well, niece, I trust you will be

Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, "Father, as it please you:"—but ye; for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, " Father, as it please me." (with a husband.

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted Heat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No. uncle, III none: Adam's sons are mybrcihren; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.

'~ "A you
i kno

/inter Don Pedro, Claudid, Benedick, Balthazar, Don Jviin, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others,

P. Pedro, l^ady, will you walkabout with your friend! Hero. So you walk soi'dy, and look sweetly, and say nothing, 1 am yours for the walk; and especially when 1 w.dk away. D. Pedro. With me in your company? Hero. 1 may say so, when I please. D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case 1 [house is Jove.

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon s roof; within the
Hero. Why, then, your visor should be thatch d.
D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.

[ Takes her aside.
Bene. Well, 1 would you did like me.
Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; for I have
Bene. Which is one? (many ill qualities.

Marg. 1 say iny prayers aloud. [Amen.
Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry
Mar^. God match me with a good dancer!
Balth. Amen.

Mars. And God keep him out of my sight, when the
dance is done I—Answer, clerk.
Batth. No more words: the clerk is answered.
Urs. I know you well enough; you are ..ignior
Ant. At a word, I am not. [Antonio.
Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.
Ant. To tell you true. I counterfeit him,
Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unlcs:; you
were the very man. Here's his dry hand up and down:
Ant. At a word, I am not. [you are he.you are he.
Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you
by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go to,
mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there's an
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? [end.
Bene. No, you shall pardon me.
Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?
Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the "Hundred Merry Talcs."—Well, this was signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he?

Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, believe me.
Beat. Did he never make you laugh?
Bene. I pray you. what is ne?

Beat. Why, he isthe prince's jester: avery dull fool; nnly his gift is in devising impossible slander ,; none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation :s not in his wit, but in his villainy ; for he both plea>es men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. lam sure he is in the fleet; I would he had boarded me 1 [you say.

Bene. When I know the gentleman. Ill tell him what

prince do soucit you in that kind, you answer.

Heat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him mere is measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hearme, Hero:—wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a emque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, Kills into the cinque-pace faster and faster, til! he sink into his grave.

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; i can see a church by daylight. [good room.

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother: make