_Leon._ I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; 5 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father that so loved his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine, And bid him speak of patience; 10 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, And let it answer every strain for strain, As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard, 15 Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem!’ when he should groan, Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience. But there is no such man: for, brother, men 20 Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 25 Charm ache with air, and agony with words: No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency, To be so moral when he shall endure 30 The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement. _Ant._ Therein do men from children nothing differ. _Leon._ I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood; For there was never yet philosopher 35 That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance. _Ant._ Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40 _Leon._ There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so. My soul doth tell me Hero is belied; And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince, And all of them that thus dishonour her. _Ant._ Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily. 45 _Enter_ DON PEDRO _and_ CLAUDIO. _D. Pedro._ Good den, good den. _Claud._ Good day to both of you. _Leon._ Hear you, my lords,— _D. Pedro._ We have some haste, Leonato. _Leon._ Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord: Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. _D. Pedro._ Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. 50 _Ant._ If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low. _Claud._ Who wrongs him? _Leon._ Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:— Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword: I fear thee not. _Claud._ Marry, beshrew my hand, 55 If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.