Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o'er-night and send her home again without a husband. 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: we have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, a wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters. 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Con. Masters,-- 1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men's bills. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. Scene IV.--A Room in Leonato's house. [Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Ursula.] Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. Urs. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula.] Marg. Troth, I think your other rebato were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so. Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; I'll wear none but this. Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner: and your gown's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so. Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls down sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a blueish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy! Marg. 'T will be heavier soon, by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think, you would have me say,--saving your reverence,--'a husband:' an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm in, 'the heavier for a husband'? None, I think, an it be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise 't is light, and not heavy: Ask my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes. [Enter Beatrice.] Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Marg. Clap's into--'Light o' love;' that goes without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it.