Beatrice, with a Messenger.
Leonato.* note
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.
Leon.
How many gentlemen have you lost, in this
action?
Mess.
But few of any sort, and none of name.
Leon.
A victory is twice itself, when the atchiever
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don
Pedro hath bestow'd much honour on a young Florentine,
call'd Claudio.
-- 318 --
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.
Leon.
He hath an uncle here in Messina, will be very
much glad of it.
Mess.
I have already delivered him letters, and
there appears much joy in him; even so much, that
joy could not shew itself modest enough, without a
badge of bitterness.
Leon.
Did he break out into tears?
Mess.
In great measure.
Leon.
A kind overflow of kindness; there are no
faces truer than those that are so wash'd.
Beat.
I pray you, is signior Montanto* note returned
from the wars?
Mess.
I know none of that name, lady; 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's return'd, and as pleasant as ever he
was.
Beat.
I pray you, how many hath he kill'd and
eaten, in these wars? But how many hath he kill'd?
for indeed, I promis'd to eat all of his killing.
Leon.
'Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too
much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
Mess.
He hath done good service, lady, in these
wars.
Beat.
You had musty victuals, and he hath holp to
eat them; he's 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?† note
-- 319 --
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 gets nothing by that. In our last
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now
is the whole man govern'd with one. So that, if he
have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it
for a difference between himself and his horse, for it is
all the wit that he hath left, to be known a reasonable
creature. Who is his companion, now? He hath
every month a new sworn brother.
Mess.
Is it possible?
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, if he were, I would burn my study. But,
I pray you, who is his companion?
Mess.
He is most in the company of the right noble
Claudio.
Beat.
O lord, 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 cur'd.
Leon.
You'll ne'er run mad, niece.
Beat.
No, not 'till a hot January.
[A flourish.
Mess.
Don Pedro is approach'd.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar, and Don John.* note
Pedro.
Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet
-- 320 --
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 his leave.
Pedro.
You embrace your charge most willingly.
I think, this is your daughter.
Leon.
Her mother hath many times told me so.
Bene.
Were you in doubt, that you ask'd her?
Leon.
Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a
child.
Pedro.
You have it full, Benedick; you may guess
by this, what you are, being a man: truly the lady
favours 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, as
like him as she is.
[Prince and Leonato talk apart.
Beat.
I wonder that you will still be talking, signior
Benedick; no body marks you.
Bene.
What, my dear lady disdain! are you yet
living?
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 lov'd of all ladies, only you excepted; and
I would I could find in my heart, that I had not a hard
heart, for truly, I love none.* note
Beat.
A dear happiness to women, they would else
have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank
Heav'n, and my cold blood, I am of your humour for
that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than
a man swear he loves me.
-- 321 --
Bene.
Heav'n keep your ladyship still in that mind,
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate
scratch'd face.
Beat.
Scratching could not make it worse, if 'twere
such a one as yours.
Bene.
Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beat.
A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of
yours.
Bene.
I would my horse had the speed of your
tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way,
a God's name, I have done.
Beat.
You always end with a jade's trick; I know
you of old.* note
Pedro. [Apart.]
This is the sum of all. Leonato,
signior Claudio, and signior Benedick; my dear friend
Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay
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, I owe you all
duty.
John.
I thank you; I am not of many words, but I
thank you.
Leon.
Please it your grace, lead on?
Pedro.
Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.
[Exeunt all, but Benedick and Claudio.
Claud.
Benedick!
Bene.
What do you say, count?
Claud.
Didst thou note the daughter of signior
Leonato?
Bene.
I noted her not, but I look'd 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
-- 322 --
me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant
to their sex?
Claud.
No. I pr'ythee, speak in sober judgment.
Bene.
Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for an
high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little
for a great praise; only this commendation I can afford
her, that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome;
and being no other but as she is, I do not like
her.* note
Claud.
Thou think'st I am in sport. I pray thee,
tell me truly how thou lik'st her?
Bene.
Would you buy her, that you enquire after
her?
Claud.
Can the world buy such a jewel?
Bene.
Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak
you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting
jack? Come, in what key shall a man take you?
Claud.
In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady, that I
ever look'd on.
Bene.
I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no
such matter; there's her cousin, if she were not possest
with such a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty,
as the first of May doth the last of December. But I
hope you have no intent to turn husband, have
you?
Claud.
I would scarce trust myself, though I had
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
Bene.
Is't come to this, in faith? Hath not the
world one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion?
Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore, again?
O, fye! Go to, i'faith; if thou wilt needs thrust thy
neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away
Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is return'd to seek you.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
Pedro.
What secret hath held you here, that you
follow not to Leonato's house?
-- 323 --
Bene.
I would your grace would constrain me to
tell.
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 whom? 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 had he told it.
Bene.
Like the old tale, my lord, it is not so, nor
'twas not so; and indeed, Heav'n forbid it should
be so.
Claud.
If my passion change not shortly, Heav'n
forbid it should be otherwise.
Pedro.
Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very
well worthy,
Claud.
You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.
Pedro.
By my troth, I speak my thought.
Claud.
And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
Bene.
And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I
speak mine.
Claud.
That I love her, I feel.
Pedro.
That she is worthy, I know.
Bene.
That I neither feel how she should be loved,
nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion
that fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the
stake.
Pedro.
Thou wast ever an obstinate heretick in the
despight of beauty.
Claud.
And never could maintain his part, but in
the force of his will.
Bene.
That a woman conceived me, I thank her;
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble
thanks. But that I will have a recheat* note winded
in my forehead, all women shall pardon me; because
-- 324 --
I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any,
I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is,
for the which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.
Pedro.
I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Bene.
With anger, with sickness, or with hunger,
my lord, not with love. Prove, that ever I lose
more blood with love, than I will get again with
drinking, pick out my eyes with a ballad-maker's
pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house,
for the sign of blind Cupid.
Pedro.
Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith,
thou wilt prove a notable argument.
Bene.
If I do, hang me in a bottle, like a cat,* note and
shoot at me.
Pedro.
Well, as time shall try; in time the savage
bull doth bear the yoke.
Bene.
The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible
Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set
them in my forehead, and let me be vilely painted;
and in such great letters as they write, Here is good
Horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, Here
you may see Benedick the marry'd man.† note
Pedro.
Nay, if Cupid hath not spent all his quiver
in Venice, thou wilt quake for this, shortly.&verbar2; note
Bene.
I look for an earthquake too, then.
Pedro.
Well, you will temporize with the hours.
In the mean time, Good signior Benedick, repair to
Leonato's, commend me to him, and tell him I will
not fail him at supper, for indeed he hath made great
preparation.
Bene.
I have almost matter enough in me for such
an embassage; and so I commit you.
-- 325 --
Claud.
To the tuition of Heav'n. From my house,
if I had it.
Pedro.
The sixth of July, your loving friend, Benedick.
Bene.
Nay, mock not, mock not; the body of your
discourse is sometimes guarded with fragments, and
the guards are but slightly basted on, neither. Ere you
flout old ends, any further, examine your conscience,
and so I leave you.
[Exit.
Claud.
My liege, your highness may now do me good.
Pedro.
My love is thine to teach, teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lessen that may do thee good.
Claud.
Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
Pedro.
No child but Hero, she's his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
Claud.
O, my lord,
When you went onward, on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand,
Than to drive liking to the name of 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,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying, I lik'd her, ere I went to wars.* note
Pedro.
Thou wilt be like a lover, presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it,
And I'll break with 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.
-- 326 --
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 lovest,
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling, 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,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force,
And strong encounter of my amorous tale;
Then after to her father will I break,
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it, presently.
[Exeunt.
Enter Don John, and Conrade.* note
Conr.
What the good-jer, my lord? Why are
you thus out of measure sad?
John.
There is no measure in the occasion that
breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit.
Conr.
You should hear reason.
John.
And when I have heard it, what blessing
bringeth it?
Conr.
If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance.
John.
I wonder that thou (being, as thou say'st
thou art, born under Saturn) goest about to apply a
moral medicine, to a mortifying mischief. I cannot
hide what I am: I must be sad, when I have cause,
and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have a stomach,
and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I am
drowsy, and tend on no man's business; laugh when
I am merry, and claw† note no man in his humour.
Conr.
Yea, but you must not make the full show of
this, 'till you may do it without controlment. You
-- 327 --
have, of late, stood out against your brother, and he
hath ta'en you newly into his grace, where it is impossible
you should take root, but by the fair weather
that you make yourself; it is needful that you frame
the season for your own harvest.
John.
I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a
rose by his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdain'd
of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love
from any. In this (though I cannot be said to be a
flattering honest man) it must not be deny'd but I am
a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzel,
and infranchised with a clog, therefore, I have decreed
not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I
would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking.
In the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek
not to alter me.
Conr.
Can you make no use of your discontent?
John.
I will make all use of it, for I use it only.
Who comes here? What news, Borachio?
Enter Borachio.
Bora.
I came yonder, from a great supper; the
prince, your brother, is royally entertain'd by Leonato;
and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.
John.
Will it serve for any model to build mischief
on? What is he, for a fool, that betroths himself to
unquietness?
Bora.
Marry, it is your brother's right hand.
John.
Who, the most exquisite Claudio?
Bora.
Even he.
John.
A proper squire. And who, and who?
Which way looks he?
Bora.
Marry, on Hero, the daughter, and heir of
Leonato.
John.
A very forward March chick! Come,
let us thither, this may prove food to my displeasure.
That young start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow;
-- 328 --
if I can cross him, any way, I bless myself,
every way. You are both sure, and will assist me.
Conr.
To the death, my lord.
John.
Let us to the great supper, their cheer is the
greater that I am subdu'd: would the cook were of
my mind.† note
[Exeunt.* note
End of the First Act.
ACT II.
Scene
SCENE, a grand Hall in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato, and Antonio.
Leonato.
How came you to this?
Ant.
I tell you, the prince, and Count Claudio,
Walking before supper in the thick pleach'd
Alley of the orchard, were overheard by a
Man of mine. It was agreed upon, that the prince
should in a dance, woo Hero, as for himself; and
having obtain'd her, give her to Count Claudio.
Leon.
Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this?
Ant.
A good sharp fellow. I will send for him, and
you shall question him yourself.
Leon.
No, no, we will hold it as a dream, 'till it
appear itself.—But do you acquaint my daughter
-- 329 --
withal, that she may be better prepar'd for her answer,
if peradventure this be true. Here she comes.
Enter Hero, and Beatrice.
Leon.
Was not Count John here, at supper?
Ant.
I saw him not.
Beat.
How tartly that gentleman looks? I can
never see him, but I am heart-burn'd, 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 him 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 Benedick's tongue, in Count
John's mouth, and half Count John's melancholy, in
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 goodwill.
Leon.
By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee
a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
Beat.
For that blessing I am at heaven, upon my
knees, every morning and evening. Lord, I could not
endure a husband with a beard on his face, I had rather
lay in woollen.
Leon.
You may light upon a husband that hath no
beard.
Beat.
What should I do with him? dress him in my
apparel, and make him 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 fit for me; and he that is less than
a man, I am not for him; therefore, I will even take
six-pence in earnest of the bearherd, and lead his apes
into hell.
Leon.
Well then, get you thither.
Beat.
No, but to the gate; and there will the devil
meet me, like an old cuckold, with his horns on his
-- 330 --
head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you
to heaven, here's no place for you maids; so deliver I
up my apes, and away to St. Peter, for the heavens,
where the batchelors sit, and there live we as merry as
the day is long.
Ant.
Well, neice, I trust you will be rul'd by your
father.
[To Hero.
Beat.
Yes, faith, it is my cousin's duty to make
curt'sy, and say, as it pleases you; but yet, for all that,
cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make
another curt'sy, and say, father, as it pleases me.
Leon.
Well, neice, I hope to see you one day fitted
with a husband.
Beat.
Not till men are made of some other metal
than earth; would it not grieve a woman to be overmaster'd
with a piece of valiant dust? to make account
of her life, to a clod of way-ward marle? No, uncle,
I'll none; Adam's sons are my brethren, and, truly, I
hold it a sin to match in my kindred.
Leon.
Daughter, remember what I told you; if the
prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your
answer.
Beat.
The fault will be in the musick, cousin, if you
be not woo'd, in good time; if the prince be too importunate,
tell him there is measure in every thing,
and so dance out the answer: for hear me, Hero, wooing,
wedding, and repenting, is a Scotch jig, a measure,
and a cinque-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,
falls into the cinque-pace, faster and faster, 'till he sinks
into his grave.* note
Leon.
Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat.
I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church
by day-light.
[Music plays.
Leon.
The revellers are entering, brother; make
good room.
[Music again.
-- 331 --
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar, and others in Masquerade.* note
Pedro.
Lady, will you walk away with your friend?
Hero.
So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say
nothing, I am yours for the walk, and especially when
I walk away.
Pedro.
With me in your company?
Hero.
I may say so, when I please.
Pedro.
And when please you to say so?
Hero.
When I like your favour; for heaven defend
the lute should be like the case.
Pedro.
My visor is Philemon's roof, within the house
is Jove.
Hero.
Why then your visor should be thatch'd.
Pedro.
Speak low, if you speak love.
Balth.
Well, I would you did like me.
Marg.
So would not I, for your own sake, for I have
many ill qualities.
Balth.
Which is one?
Marg.
I say my prayers aloud.
Balth.
I love you the better, the hearers may cry,
amen.
Marg.
Luck match me with a good dancer!
Balth.
Amen.
Marg.
And keep him out of my sight, when the
dance is done: answer, clerk.
Balth.
No more words; the clerk is answer'd.
[A Dance by the Masqueraders.
Beat.
Will you not tell me who told you so?† note
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
-- 332 --
wit out of the hundred merry tales; 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 he?
Beat.
Why he is the prince's jester; a very dull fool;
his only gift is in devising impossible slanders: none
but libertines delight in him, and the commendation is
not in his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleaseth
men, and angers them; and then they laugh at him,
and beat him; I am sure he is in the fleet; I would
he had boarded me.
Bene.
When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him
what you say.
Beat.
Do, do; he'll but break a comparison or two
on me, which peradventure, not mark'd or not laugh'd
at, strikes him into melancholy, and then there's a partridge
wing sav'd; for the fool will eat no supper, that
night. We must follow the leaders.
Bene.
In every good thing.
Beat.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them
at the next turning.
[Exeunt.
Manent Don John, Claudio, and Borachio.
John.
Now then for a trick of contrivance. Sure
my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn
her father, to break with him about it; the ladies follow
her, and but one visor remains.
Bor.
And that is Claudio; I know him by his bearing.
John.
Are not you Signior Benedick?
Claud.
You know me well, I am he.
John.
Signior, you are very near my brother, in his
love, he is enamour'd on Hero; I pray you dissuade
him from her, she is no equal for his birth; you may
do the part of an honest man, in it.
Claud.
How know you he loves her?
-- 333 --
John.
I heard him swear his affection.
Bor.
So did I, too; and he swore he would marry her,
to-night.
John.
Come, let us to the banquet.
[Exeunt John and Bor.
Claud.
Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear this ill news with the ears of Claudio.
'Tis certain so—the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant, in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love;
Therefore, all hearts in love, use your own tongues,
Let every eye negociate for itself,
And trust no agent; beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melted into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not. Farewel, then, Hero!
Enter Benedick.
Bene.
Count Claudio?
Claud.
The same.
Bene.
Come, will you go with me?
Claud.
Whither?
Bene.
Even to the next willow, about your own business,
count. What fashion will you wear the garland
of? about your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under
your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? you must wear it
one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.
Claud.
I wish him joy of her.
Bene.
Why that's spoken like an honest drover: so
they sell bullocks: but did you think the prince would
have served you thus?
Claud.
I pray you leave me.
Bene.
Nay, now you strike like the blind man; 'twas
the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.
Claud.
If it will not be, I'll leave you.
[Exit.
Bene.
Alas, poor hurt fowl: now will he creep into
sedges. But that my lady Beatrice should know me,
and not know me! the prince's fool! ha! it may be I
go under that title, because I am merry; yea, but so I
am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so reputed. It
-- 334 --
is the base (tho' bitter) disposition of Beatrice, that puts
the world into her person, and so gives me out; well,
I'll be reveng'd as I may.
Enter Don Pedro.
Pedro.
Now, signior, where's the count? Did you
see him?
Bene.
Troth, my lord, I have play'd the part of
lady Fame. I found him here, as melancholy as a lodge
in a warren. I told him (and, I think, told him true)
that your grace had got the will of this young lady;
and I offer'd him my company to a willow-tree, either to
make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him a
rod, as being worthy to be whipt.
Pedro.
To be whipt! What's his fault?
Bene.
The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, being
overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shews it his
companion, and he steals it.
Pedro.
Wilt thou make a trust, a transgression? the
transgression is in the stealer.
Bene.
Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been
made, and the garland, too; for the garland he might
have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestow'd
on you, who (as I take it) have stol'n his bird's nest.
Pedro.
I will but teach them to sing, and restore
them to the owner.
Bene.
If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith you say honestly.
Pedro.
The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you;
the gentleman that danc'd with her, told her she's
much wrong'd by you.
Bene.
O, she misus'd me, past the indurance of a block;
an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answer'd
her; my very visor began to assume life, and
scold with her? She told me, not thinking I had been
myself, that I was the prince's jester, and that I was
duller, than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with
such impetuous conveyance upon me, that I stood like
a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me; she
speaks poniards, and every word stabs; if her breath
-- 335 --
were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living
near her, she would infect to the north-star; I would
not marry her, though she were endowed with all that
Adam had left him, before he transgress'd; she would
have made Hercules have turn'd the spit, yea and have
cleft his club to make the fire, too. I would to heaven
some scholar would conjure her; for certainly while she is
here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary;
and people sin upon purpose, because they would go
thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation
follow her.* note
Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato, and Hero.
Pedro.
Look, here she comes.
Bene.
Will your grace command me any service to
the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now,
to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on; I
will fetch you a tooth-picker from the farthest inch of
Asia? bring you the length of Prester John's foot;
fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you
any embassage to the pigmies; rather than hold three
words conference with this harpy: you have no employment
for me?
Pedro.
None, but to desire your good company.
Bene.
O lord, sir, here's a dish I love not. I cannot
indure this lady's tongue.† note
[Exit.
Pedro.
Come, lady, come, you have lost the heart
of Signior Benedick. You have put him down, lady;
you have put him down.
Beat.
So I would not he should do me, my lord,
lest I should prove the mother of fools:‡ note I have
brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
-- 336 --
Pedro.
Why, how now, count, wherefore are you
sad?
Claud.
Not sad, my lord.
Pedro.
How then? sick?
Claud.
Neither, my lord.
Beat.
The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry,
nor well; but civil, count, civil as an orange,* note and
something of its jealous complexion.
Pedro.
I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;
though I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false.
Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair
Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and his
good-will obtained; name the day of marriage, and
Heav'n give thee joy.
Leon.
Count, take of me my daughter, and with
her my fortunes; his grace has made the match, and
all grace say, amen, to it.
Beat.
Speak, count, 'tis your cue.
Claud.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy; I
were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady,
as you are mine, I am yours; I give away myself, for
you, and doat upon the exchange.
Beat.
Speak, cousin, or (if you cannot) stop his
mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak, neither.
Pedro.
In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat.
Yea, my lord, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps
on the windy side of care: my cousin tells him in his
ear, that he is in her heart.
Claud.
And so she doth, cousin.
Beat.
Good lord, for alliance! Thus goes every
one to the world but I, and I am sun-burn'd; I may
sit in a corner, and cry heigh ho! for a husband.
Pedro.
Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Beat.
I would rather have one of your father's getting:
hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your
father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by
them.† note
-- 337 --
Pedro.
Will you have me, lady?
Beat.
No, my lord, unless I might have another,
for working-days; your grace is too costly, to wear
every day: but I beseech your grace pardon me, I
was born to speak all mirth, and no matter.
Pedro.
Your silence most offends me, and to be
merry best becomes you; for out of question you were
born in a merry hour.
Beat.
No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd; but
then there was a star danc'd, and under that I was
born. Cousins, Heav'n give you joy!* note
Leon.
Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?
Beat.
I cry you mercy, uncle: by your grace's
pardon.
[Exit Beatrice.
Pedro.
By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.
Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
Claud.
To-morrow, my lord; time goes on crutches,
'till love have all its rites.
Leon.
Not 'till Monday, my dear son, and a time
too brief too, to have all things answer my mind.
Pedro.
Come, you shake the head at so long a
breathing; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time
shall not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake
one of Hercules's labours, which is to bring
Signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain
of affection, the one with the other; I would fain
have it a match, and I doubt not to fashion it, if you
three will but minister such assistance as I shall give
you direction.
Leon.
My lord, I am for you, though it cost me
ten nights watchings.
Claud.
And I, my lord.
Pedro.
And you too, gentle Hero?
Hero.
I will do any modest office, my lord, to help
my cousin to a good husband.
Pedro.
And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband
-- 338 --
that I know: thus far I can praise him, he is of
a noble strain, of approv'd valour, and confirm'd honesty.
I will teach you how to humour your cousin,
that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your
two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despight
of his quick wit, and his queasy stomach, he
shall fall in love with Beatrice: if we can do this, Cupid
is no longer an archer, his glory shall be ours; go in
with me, and I will tell you my drift.
[Exeunt.
Enter Don John and Borachio.
John.
Is it so, the Count Claudio shall marry the
daughter of Leonato?
Bora.
Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
John.
Any bar, any cross, any impediment, will be
medicinable to me; I am sick in displeasure to him,
and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges
evenly with mine. How canst thou cross his marriage?
Bora.
Not honestly, my lord, but so covertly, that
no dishonesty shall appear in me.
John.
Shew me briefly how.
Bora.
I think I told your lordship, a year since, how
much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting
gentlewoman to Hero.
John.
I remember.
Bora.
I can, at any unseasonable instant of the
night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber
window.
John.
What life is in that, to be the death of this
marriage?
Bora.
The poison of that lies in you to temper; go
you to the prince, your brother, spare not to tell him,
that he hath wrong'd his honour, in marrying the renown'd
Claudio, (whose estimation do you mightily
hold up) to a contaminated, stale, such a one as Hero.
John.
What proof shall I make of that?
Bora.
Proof enough, to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, to kill Leonato; look you for
any other issue?
-- 339 --
John.
Only to despight them, I will endeavour any
thing.
Bora.
Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don
Pedro, and the Count Claudio, alone; tell them that
you know Hero loves me; and in a kind of zeal, both
to the prince and Claudio, as in love of your brother's
honour, who hath made this match, (and his friend's
reputation, who is thus like to be cozen'd with the
semblance of a maid) that you have discover'd thus;
they will hardly believe this, without trial: offer them
instances, which shall bear no less likelihood, than to
see me at her chamber-window, hear me call Margaret,
Hero; hear Margaret term me Borachio; and bring
them to see this, the very night before the intended
wedding; for in the mean time I will so fashion the
matter, that Hero shall be absent, and there shall appear
such seeming proofs of Hero's disloyalty, that
jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation
overthrown.* note
John.
Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will
put it in practice: be cunning in the working of this,
and thy fee is a thousand ducats.
Bora.
Be thou constant in the accusation, and my
cunning shall not shame me.
John.
I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, Leonato's Garden.
Enter Benedick.
Bene.
I do much wonder, that one man seeing how
much another man is a fool, when he dedicates his
behaviours to love, will, after he has laught at such
shallow follies in others, become the argument of his
own scorn, by falling in love! and such a man is
Claudio. I have known when there was no musick
with him, but the drum and the fife, and now had he
rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known
-- 340 --
when he would have walk'd ten mile o-foot, to see a
good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,
carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont
to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man
and a soldier, and now he's turn'd orthographer, his
words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with
these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not. I will not be
sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but
I'll take my oath on it, 'till he have made an oyster of
me, he shall never make me such a fool; one woman
is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well;
another virtuous, yet I am well. But 'till all graces
be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my
grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll
none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or
I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me;
noble, or not I; of good discourse, an excellent
musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please
Heav'n. Ha! the prince and monsieur Love: I will
hide me in the arbour.† note
[Goes into the Arbour.
Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, and Balthasar.
Pedro.
Come, shall we hear this musick?
Claud.
Yea, my good lord; how still the evening is?
As hush'd, on purpose to grace harmony.
Pedro.
See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that song again.
Balth.
O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice,
To slander musick any more than once.
Pedro.
It is the witness still of excellency,
To put a strange face on his own perfection;
I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more.
Balth.
I will, my lord.
Bene.
Now for a divine air; how will they be ravish'd!
Is it not strange that sheep's guts should hale
-- 341 --
souls out of men's bodies? Well, a horn for my money,
when all's done.
SONG.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blith and merry,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey down derry.
Sing no more ditties, sing no more,
Nor be you dull or whining;
Men have been false, and will be so,
While love-sick maids are pining.
Then sigh not so, &c.
Pedro.
By my troth, a good song.
Balth.
And an ill singer, my lord.
Bene.
If he had been a dog that shou'd have howl'd
thus, they would have hang'd him, and I pray Heav'n
his bad voice bode no mischief; I had as lief have
heard the night-raven.
Pedro.
Dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee
get us some excellent musick; for to-morrow we
would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window.
Balth.
The best I can, my lord.
[Exit Balthasar.
Pedro.
Do so; farewel. Come hither, Leonato!
what was it you told me of, to-day, that your niece
Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?
Bene.
How's this?
Claud.
O, ay, stalk on; stalk on, the fowl sits. I
did never think that lady would have loved any man.
Leon.
No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that
she should so doat on Signior Benedick, whom she hath,
in all outward behaviour, seem'd ever to abhor.
-- 342 --
Bene.
Is't possible, sits the wind in that corner?* note
Leon.
By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to
think of it; but that she loves him with an inraged affection,
it is past the infinite of thought.
Pedro.
May be she doth but counterfeit.
Claud.
Faith, like enough.
Leon.
Counterfeit! there was never counterfeit
of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers
it.
Pedro.
Why, what effects of passion shews she?
Claud.
Bait the hook well, the fish will bite.
Leon.
What effect, my lord? she will fit you—You
heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud.
She did, indeed.
Pedro.
How, how, I pray you? you amaze me.
I would have thought her spirit had been invincible
against all assaults of affection.
Leon.
I would have sworn it had, my lord, especially
against Benedick.
Bene.
I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded
fellow speaks it. Knavery cannot sure hide
himself in such reverence.
Claud.
He hath ta'en th' infection. Hold it up.
Pedro.
Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
Leon.
No, and swears she never will; that's her
torment.
Bene.
So, so!
Leon.
My daughter says, the ecstasy hath so much
overborne her, that she is sometimes afraid she will
do desperate outrage to herself.
Pedro.
It were good that Benedick knew of it, by
some other, if she will not discover it. I pray you,
tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say.
Leon.
Were it good, think you?
Claud.
'Tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.
Bene.
Very well!
-- 343 --
Claud.
Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out
with good counsel.
Leon.
Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her
heart out, first.
Pedro.
Well, we will hear further of it by your
daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well,
and I could wish, he would modestly examine himself,
to see how much he is unworthy to have so good a
lady.
Leon.
My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready.
Claud.
If he do not doat on her, upon this, I will
never trust my expectation.
Pedro.
Let there be the same net spread for her,
and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen
carry; the sport will be, when each holds an opinion
of the other's dotage, and no such matter. That's
the scene that I would see. Let us send her to call him
in to dinner.* note
[Exeunt.
Bene.
This can be no trick; the conference was
sadly born; they have the truth of this from Hero;
they seem to pity the lady; it seems her affections
have the 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
to have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken
on me, because I have rail'd 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.
-- 344 --
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 batchelor, I did not think I should live
'till I were marry'd. Here comes Beatrice. By this
day, she's a fair lady, I do spy some marks of love in
her.* note
Enter Beatrice.
Beat.
Against my will, I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner.
Bene.
Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Beat.
I took no more pains for those thanks, than
you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful,
I would not have come.
Bene.
You take pleasure then in the message?
Beat.
Yea, just so much as you may take upon a
knife's point, and choak a daw withal. You have no
stomach, signior. Fare you well.
[Exit.
Bene.
Ha! How's this! Against my will, I am
sent to bid you come in to dinner: there's a double
meaning in that. I took no more pains for those thanks,
than you took pains to thank me. That's as much as
to say, any pains that I take for you, is as easy as
thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain;
if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her
picture.† note
[Exit.§ note
End of the Second Act.
-- 345 --
ACT III.
Scene
SCENE continues in the Garden.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero.
Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour,
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her. Say that thou overheard'st us,
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
'To listen to our purpose. This is thy office;
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Marg.
I'll make her come, I warrant, presently.
[Exit.
Hero.
Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Benedick;
When I do name him, let it be thy part
To praise him, more than ever man did merit.
My talk to thee, must be how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin.
Enter Beatrice.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing runs,
Close by the ground to hear our conference.
The pleasant'st angling, is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait.
Ursu.
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
-- 346 --
Hero.
Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing,
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
No, truly, Ursula, she's too disdainful;
I know her spirits are as coy and wild,
As* note haggards of the rock.
Ursu.
But are you sure
That Benedick loves Beatrice so intirely?
Hero.
So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord,
They did intreat me to acquaint her of it;
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Ursu.
Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?
Hero.
O god of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man;
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff, than that of Beatrice.
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
† noteMis-prizing 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.
Ursu.
Sure I think so;
And therefore, certainly it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero.
Why, you speak truth. 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 antick,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
-- 347 --
If low, an aglet* note very vilely cut;
If speaking, why, a vane, blown with all winds;
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.
Ursu.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero.
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself; press me to death with wit.
Therefore, let Benedick, like covered fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly;
It were a bitter death to die with mocks.
Ursu.
Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say.
Hero.
No, rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion.
And truly I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with. One doth not know
How much an ill word may impoison liking.
Ursu.
O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so sweet and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as Benedick.
Hero.
Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Ursu.
His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you married, madam?
Hero.
Why, every day, to morrow. Come, go in,
I'll shew thee some attires, and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me, to-morrow.
Ursu.
She's ta'en, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam.
-- 348 --
Hero.
If it prove so, then loving goes by haps;
Some Cupids kill with arrows, some with traps.* note
[Exeunt.
Beat.
What fire is in my ears?† note Can this be true?
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewel, and maiden pride, adieu!
No glory lives behind the back of such,
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee;
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee;§ note
Love as thou wilt, Beatrice shall requite thee.
[Exit.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.
Pedro.
I do but stay, 'till your marriage be consummate,
and then I go toward Arragon.
Claud.
I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.
Pedro.
Nay, I will only be bold with Benedick for
his company; for, from the crown of his head, to the
soal of his foot, he is all mirth. He hath twice or
thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little hangman
dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as sound as a
bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his
heart thinks, his tongue speaks.
Bene.
Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon.
So say I; methinks you are sadder.
Claud.
I hope he is in love.
-- 349 --
Pedro.
Hang him, truant, there's no true drop of
blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love; if he be
sad, he wants money.
Bene.
I have the tooth-ach.
Pedro.
Draw it.
Bene.
Hang it.
Pedro.
What! sigh, for the tooth-ach?
Leon.
Which is but a humour, or a worm.
Bene.
Well, every one can master a grief, but he
that has it.
Claud.
Yet say I, he is in love. If he be not in love
with some woman, there is no believing old signs.
He brushes his hat, a mornings. What should that
bode?
Pedro.
Nay, he rubs himself with civet. Can you
smell him out, by that?
Claud.
That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's
in love.
Pedro.
The greatest note of it, is his melancholy.* note
Claud.
Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now
crept into a lute string.
Pedro.
Indeed that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude
he is in love.
Claud.
Nay, but I know who loves him.
Pedro.
That would I know, too. I warrant, one that
knows him not.
Claud.
Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despight
of all, dies for him.
Pedro.
Indeed! she shall be buried, with her heels
upwards.
Bene.
Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. Old
signior, walk aside with me, I have studied eight or
nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses
must not hear.
[Exit with Leon.
Pedro.
For my life, to break with him, about Beatrice.
-- 350 --
Claud.
'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have, by
this, play'd their parts with Beatrice, and then the
two bears will not bite one another when they meet.
Enter Don John.
John.
My lord and brother, Heav'n save you.
Pedro.
Good den, brother.
John.
If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with
you.
Pedro.
In private?
John.
If it please you: yet Count Claudio may
hear, for what I would speak of, concerns him.
Pedro.
What's the matter?
John.
Means your lordship to be married, to-morrow?
[To Claudio.
Pedro.
You know he does.
John.
I know not that, when he knows what I
know.
Claud.
If there be any impediment, I pray you,
discover it.
John.
You may think I love you not; let that appear
hereafter, and aim better at me, by that I now
will manifest; for my brother, I think, he holds you
well, and in dearness of heart, hath holp to effect your
ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill
bestow'd.
Pedro.
Why, what's the matter?
John.
I came hither to tell you, and circumstances
shorten'd, (for she hath been too long a talking of) the
lady is disloyal.
Claud.
Who, Hero?
John.
Even she, Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every
man's Hero!
Claud.
Disloyal?
John.
The word is too good to paint out her wickedness;
I could say she were worse. Think you of a
worse title, and I will fit her to it? Wonder not, 'till
further warrant. Go but with me, to-night, and you shall
see her chamber-window enter'd, even the night before
-- 351 --
her wedding day; if you love her, then to-morrow
wed her; but it would better fit your honour to
change your mind.
Claud.
May this be so?
Pedro.
I will not think it.
John.
If you dare not trust that you see, confess
not that you know. If you will follow me, I will
shew you enough; and when you have seen more, and
heard more, proceed accordingly.
Claud.
If I see any thing, to-night, why I should
not marry her, to-morrow, in the congregation where
I should wed, there will I shame her.
Pedro.
And as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I
will join with thee to disgrace her.
John.
I will disparage her no farther, 'till you are
my witnesses; bear it coldly but 'till night, and let
the issue shew itself.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, the Street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.* note
Dogb.
Are you good men, and true?
Verg.
Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer
salvation, body and soul.
Dogb.
Nay, that were a punishment too good for
them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being
chosen for the prince's watch.
Verg.
Well, give them their charge, neighbour
Dogberry.
Dogb.
First, who think you the most disartless man
to be constable?
1 Watch.
Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for
they can write and read.
Dogb.
Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. Heav'n
-- 352 --
hath blest you with a good name: to be a well-favour'd
man, is the gift of fortune, but to write and
read, comes by nature.
2 Watch.
Both which, master constable—
Dogb.
You have.
2 Watch.
I have.
Dogb.
I knew it would be your answer. Well, for
your favour, sir, why, give Heav'n thanks, and make
no boast of it; and for your writing and reading,
let that appear when there is no need of such vanity.
You are thought here, to be the most senseless and
fit man for the constable of the watch, therefore, bear
you the lanthorn: this is your charge; you shall comprehend
all vagrom men; you are to bid any man
stand, in the prince's name.
2 Watch.
How, if he will not stand?
Dogb.
Why then, take no note of him, but let him
go, and presently call the rest of the watch together,
and thank Heav'n you are rid of a knave.
Verg.
If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is
none of the prince's subjects.
Dogb.
True, and they are to meddle with none but
the prince's subjects. You shall also make no noise in
the streets; for the watch to babble and talk, is most
tolerable, and not to be endur'd.
2 Watch.
We will rather sleep, than talk; we know
what belongs to a watch.
Dogb.
Why, you speak like an ancient and most
quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should
offend; only have a care that your bills be not stolen.
Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid
them that are drunk get them to bed.
2 Watch.
How, if they will not?
Dogb.
Why then let them alone 'till they are sober;
if they make you not then the better answer, you may
say, they are not the men you took them for.
2 Watch.
Well, sir,
Dogb.
If you meet a thief, you may suspect him,
by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and for
such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with
them, why, the more is for your honesty.
-- 353 --
2 Watch.
If we know him to be a thief, shall we
not lay hands on him?
Dogb.
Truly, by your office, you may; but I think
they that touch pitch, will be defil'd; the most peaceable
way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him
shew himself what he is, and steal out of your company.
Verg.
You have been always call'd a merciful man,
partner.
Dogb.
Truly I would not hang a dog, by my will,
much more a man who hath any honesty in him.
Verg.
If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it.
2 Watch.
How if the nurse be asleep, and will not
hear us?
Dogb.
Why then, depart in peace, and let the child
wake her with crying: for a ewe that will not hear
her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf, when
he bleats.
Verg.
'Tis very true.
Dogb.
This is the end of the charge. You, constable,
are to present the prince's own person; if you
meet the prince in the night, you may stay him.
Verg.
Nay, bi'rlady, that I think he cannot.
Dogb.
Five shillings to one on't, with any man that
knows the statues, he may stay him; marry, not without
the prince be willing: for indeed, the watch
ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a
man against his will.
Verg.
Bi'rlady, I think it be so.
Dog.
Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night; an
there be any matter of weight chances, call me up;
keep your fellows' council and your own, and good
night. Come neighbour.
2 Watch.
Well, masters, we hear our charge; let
us go sit here, upon the church-bench, 'till two, and
then all to bed.
Dogb.
One word more, honest neighbours. I pray
you, watch about Signior Leonato's door, for the wedding
-- 354 --
being there, to-morrow, there is a great coil, tonight.
Adieu; be vigilant, I beseech you.
[Exeunt Dogb. and Verg.
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bora.
What, Conrade!
1 Watch.
Peace, stir not.
[Aside.
Bora.
Conrade, I say.
Conr.
Here, man, I am at thy elbow.
Bora.
Stand near me, and I will, like a true drunkard,
utter all to thee.
1 Watch.
Some treason, masters; yet stand close.
Bora.
Therefore, know, I have earned, of Don
John, a thousand ducats.
Conr.
Is it possible that any villany should be so
dear?
Bora.
Thou should'st rather ask if it were possible
any villany should be so cheap! for when rich villains
have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what
price they will.
Conr.
I wonder at it.
Bora.
That shews thou art unconfirm'd; thou
knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a
cloak, is nothing to a man.
Conr.
Yes, it is apparel.
Bora.
I mean the fashion.
Conr.
Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora.
Tush, I may as well say, the fool's the fool.
But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion
is?
1 Watch.
I know that Deformed; he has been a vile
thief, this seven years; he goes up and down, like a
gentleman. I remember his name.
Bora.
Didst thou not hear some body?
Conr.
No, 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora.
Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief,
this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the
hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty.
Conr.
Are not thou, thyself, giddy with the fashion,
-- 355 --
that thou hast shifted out of thy tale, into telling me
of the fashion?
Bora.
Not so, neither. But know, that I havv
to-night, woo'd Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman,
by the name of Hero. She leans me out, at her
mistress's chamber-window; bids me a thousand times
good night—I tell this tale, vilely—I should
first tell thee how the prince, Claudio, and my master,
planted, and placed, and possessed by my master, Don
John, saw far off in the orchard, this amiable encounter.
Conr.
And thought they Margaret was Hero?
Bora.
Two of them did, the prince and Claudio;
but the devil, my master, knew she was Margaret.
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 common-wealth.
1 Watch.
And one Deformed, is one of them: I
know him, he wears a lock.
Conr.
Masters, masters.
2 Watch.
You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I
warrant you.
Conr.
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.
[Exeunt.
-- 356 --
Scene
SCENE, Leonato's House.
Enter Hero and Margaret.
Marg.
Troth, I think your other dress 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, and
your gown's a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the
Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so: but for
a fine, 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.
'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a
husband.
Hero.
Fie upon thee, art not asham'd?
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. 'Tis
almost five a clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready.
By my troth, I am exceeding ill, hey ho!
Marg.
For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?
Beat.
By my troth, I am sick.
Marg.
Get you some of this distill'd Carduns Benedictus,
and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing
for a qualm.
Beat.
Benedictus! Why Benedictus! You have
some moral, in this Benedictus.
Marg.
Moral! No, by my troth, I have no moral
meaning; I meant plain holy thistle. You may think,
perchance, that I think you are in love; nay, bi'rlady,
-- 357 --
I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I list
not to think what I can; nor indeed I cannot think,
if I would think my heart out with thinking, that you
are in love, or that you will be in love, or that you
can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, and now
is he become a man; he swore he would never marry,
and yet now, in despight of his heart, he eats his meat
without grudging; and how you may be converted, I
know not, but methinks you look with your eyes as
other women do.
Beat.
What pace is this thy tongue keeps?
Marg.
Not a false gallop.
Enter Ursula.
Ursu.
Madam, withdraw, the prince, the count, signior
Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the
town, are come to fetch you to church.
Hero.
Help me to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula.
[Exeunt.
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.
Leon.
What would you with me, honest neighbour?
Dogb.
Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with
you, that decerns you nearly.
Leon.
Brief, I pray you, for you see 'tis a busy time
with me.
Dogb.
Marry, this it is, sir.
Verg.
Yes in truth it is, sir.
Leon.
What is it, my good friends?
Dogb.
Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little of the
matter; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt,
as God help I would desire they were; but, in faith, as
honest, as the skin between his brows.
Verg.
Yes, I thank Heaven, I am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I.
Dogb.
Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour
Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb.
It pleases your worship to say so, but we are
-- 358 --
the poor duke's officers; but truly, for mine own part,
if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart
to bestow it all to your worship.
Leon.
All thy tediousness on me, ha?
Dogb.
Yea, and twice a thousand times more than
'tis, for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, as
of any man in the city; and tho' I be but a poor man,
I am glad to hear it.
Verg.
And so am I.
Leon.
I would fain know what you have to say.
Verg.
Marry, sir, our watch, to night, excepting your
worship's presence, hath ta'en a couple as arrant knaves,
as any in Messina.
Dogb.
A good old man, sir, he will be talking, as they
say; when the age is in, the wit is out. Heaven help
us, it is a world to see: well said, i'faith, neighbour
Verges, well, he's a good man; an two men ride an
horse, one must ride behind; an honest soul, i'faith, sir,
by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but Heaven is
to be worshipp'd; all men are not alike, alas, good
neighbour!
Leon.
Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.
Dogb.
Gifts that Heaven gives.
Leon.
I must leave you.
Dogb.
One word, sir; our watch have indeed comprehended
two auspicious persons, and we would have
them this morning examin'd before your worship* note
Leon.
Take their examination yourself, and bring it
me, I am now in great haste, as may appear unto you.
Dogb.
It shall be suffigance.
Leon.
Drink some wine, ere you go: fare you well.
[Exit Leon.
Dogb.
Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal,
bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the jail; we
are now to examine those men.
Verg.
And we must do it wisely.
-- 359 --
Dogb.
We will spare for no wit, I warrant; here's
that shall drive some of them to a non-come. Only get
the learned writer to set down our excommunication,
and meet me at the jail.
[Exeunt.* note
End of the Third Act.
ACT IV.
Scene
SCENE, a Church.
Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio,
Benedick, Hero, Beatrice &c. discovered.
Leonato.
Come, friar Francis, be brief, only to the plain
form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular
duties, afterwards.
Friar.
You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?
Claud.
No.
Leon.
To be marry'd to her, friar; you come to
marry her.
Friar.
Lady, you come hither to be married to this
count.
Hero.
I do.
Friar.
If either of you know any inward impediment,
why you should not be conjoin'd, I charge you, on
your souls, to utter it.
Claud.
Know you any, Hero?
Hero.
None, my lord.
Friar.
Know you any, count?
Leon.
I dare make his answer, none.
-- 360 --
Claud.
O what men dare do! what men may do!
what men daily do!
Bene.
How now! Interjections!
Claud.
Stand thee by, friar: father, by your leave,
Will you with free and unconstrained soul,
Give me this maid your daughter?
Leon.
As freely, son, as God did give her me.
Claud.
And what have I to give you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?
Pedro.
Nothing, unless you render her again.
Claud.
Sweet prince, you teach me noble thankfulness:
There, Leonato, take her back again;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here!
O, what authority and shew of truth,
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon.
What do you mean, my lord?
Claud.
Not to be marry'd;
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon.
Dear my lord, if you
Have made defeat of her virginity—
Claud.
No, Leonato,
I never tempted her with word too large,
But as a brother to his sister, shew'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.
Hero.
And seem'd I ever otherwise to you?
Claud.
Out on thy seeming, I will write against it;
You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
As chaste as is the bud, ere it be blown:
But you are more intemperate in your blood,
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals,
That rage in savage sensuality.
Hero.
Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?
Leon.
Sweet prince, why speak not you?
Pedro.
What should I speak?
-- 361 --
I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common state.
Leon.
Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?
John.
Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.
Bene.
This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero.
True! O Heav'n!
Claud.
Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother?
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own?
Leon.
All this is so; but what of this, my lord?
Claud.
Let me but move one question to your daughter,
And by that fatherly and kindly power,
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
Leon.
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero.
O Heav'n defend me, how am I beset!
What kind of catechizing call you this?
Claud.
To make you answer truly to your name.
Hero.
Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name,
With any just reproach?
Claud.
Marry, that can Hero;
Hero herself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you, yesternight,
Under your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you can, answer to this.
Hero.
I talk'd with no man, at that hour, my lord.
Pedro.
Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear; upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour, last night,
Talk with a ruffian, at her chamber-window,
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had,
A thousand times, in secret.
John.
Fie, fie, they are not to be nam'd, my lord.
Not to be spoken of;
There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence, to utter them: thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
-- 362 --
Claud.
O Hero! what an angel hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart?
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon.
Hath no man's dagger here, a point for me?
[Hero faints.
Bene.
Look to the lady.
Beat.
Why how now, cousin; wherefore sink you down?
John.
Come, let us go; these things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up.
[Exeunt D. Pedro, D. John, and Claud.
Bene.
How doth the lady?
Beat.
Dead, I think; help, uncle!
Hero! why, Hero! uncle! signior Benedick! friar!
Leon.
O fate! take not away thy heavy hand;
Death is the fairest cover for her shame,
That may be wish'd for.
Beat.
How now, cousin Hero?
Friar.
Have comfort, lady.
Leon.
Dost thou look up?
Friar.
Yea, wherefore should she not?
Leon.
Wherefore? why doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? could she here deny
The story, that is printed in her blood?* note
Griev'd I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?
I've one too much, by thee.† note
-- 363 --
Oh! she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again.
Bene.
Sir, sir, be patient;
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.
Beat.
O, on my soul, my cousin is belied.
Bene.
Lady, were you her bedfellow, last night?
Beat.
No truly, not; altho', until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon.
Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made,
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron.
Would the prince lye? and Claudio, would he lye?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her, let her die.
Friar.
Hear me, a little;
For I have only silent been so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady. I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions,
To 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, Call me a fool,
Trust not my reading, nor my observation,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here,
Under some biting error.
Leon.
Friar, it cannot be:* note
Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation,
-- 364 --
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse,
That which appears in proper nakedness?
Friar.
Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
Hero.
They know that do accuse me, I know none:
If I know more of any man alive,
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father,
Prove you that any man with me convers'd,
At hours unmeet, or that I, yesternight,
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.
Friar.
There is some strange misprision in the princes.
Bene.
Two of them have the very bent of honour,
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.
Leon.
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.
Friar.
Pause, a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter, lady Hero, left for dead;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead, indeed.
Leon.
What shall become of this? What will this do?
Friar.
Marry, this well carry'd shall, on her behalf,
Change slander to remorse;
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travel look for greater birth:
And she thus dying,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of ev'ry hearer; so will it fare with Claudio.* note
-- 365 --
Bene.
Good Leonato, let the friar advise you:
And though you know my inwardness and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this,
As secretly and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.
Leon.
Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.
Friar.
'Tis well consented, presently away.
A grievous wound requires a desperate cure.
Come, lady, die to live; this wedding-day,
Perhaps is but prolong'd; have patience, and endure.
[Exeunt.
Manent Benedick and Beatrice.
Bene.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept, all this while?
Beat.
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene.
I will not desire that.
Beat.
You have no reason, I do it freely.
Bene.
Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd.
Beat.
Ah, how much might the man deserve of me,
that would right her!
Bene.
Is there any way to shew such friendship?
Beat.
A very even way, but no such friend.
Bene.
May a man do it?
Beat.
It is a man's office, but not yours.
Bene.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you;
is not that strange?
Beat.
As strange as the thing I know not; it were
as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as
you; but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess
nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my
cousin.
Bene.
By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Beat.
Do not swear by it, and eat it.
-- 366 --
Bene.
I will swear by it, that you love me; and I
will make him eat it, that says I love you not.
Beat.
Will you not eat your word?
Bene.
With no sauce that can be devised to it; I
protest I love thee.
Beat.
Why then Heav'n forgive me.
Bene.
What offence, sweet Beatrice?
Beat.
You have staid me in a happy hour; I was
about to protest I lov'd you.
Bene.
And do it, with all thy heart.
Beat.
I love you with so much of my heart, that
none is left to protest.
Bene.
Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat.
Kill Claudio.
Bene.
Ha! Not for the wide world.
Beat.
You kill me to deny; farewel.
Bene.
Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
Beat.
I am gone, tho' I am here; there is no love
in you; nay, I pray you, let me go.
Bene.
Beatrice!
Beat.
In faith, I will go.
Bene.
We'll be friends, first.
Beat.
You dare easier be friends with me, than fight
with mine enemy.
Bene.
Is Claudio thine enemy?
Beat.
Is he not approved in the height a villain?
that hath slander'd, scorn'd, dishonour'd my kinswoman!
O that I were a man! what, bear her in hand,
until they come to take hands, and then with public
accusation, uncover'd slander, unmitigated rancour.—
O Heaven, that I were a man. I would eat his heart
in the market place.
Bene.
Hear me, Beatrice.
Beat.
Talk with a man out at a window?—a proper
saying!
Bene.
Nay, but Beatrice.
Beat.
Sweet Hero! she is wrong'd, she is slander'd,
she is undone.
Bene.
But—
Beat.
Princes and counts! surely a princely testimony,
-- 367 --
a goodly count-comfect, a sweet gallant, surely!
O that I were a man, for his sake! or that I had any
friend would be a man, for my sake! But manhood is
melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and
men are only turn'd into tongue, and trim ones, too;
he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lye,
and swears it; I cannot be a man, with wishing, therefore
I will die a woman, with grieving.
Bene.
Tarry, good Beatrice; by this hand, I love
thee.
Beat.
Use it for my love, some other way than swearing
by it.
Bene.
Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath
wrong'd Hero?
Beat.
Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.
Bene.
Enough; I am engag'd, I will challenge him.
I will kiss your hand, and so leave you; by this hand,
Claudio shall render me dear account; as you hear of
me, so think of me; go, comfort your cousin; I must
say she's dead; and so, farewel.* note
[Exeunt.
Enter Dogberry, Verges, Borachio, Conrade, the Town-Clerk and Sexton, in Gowns.
To. Cl.
Is our whole dissembly appear'd?
Dogb.
O, a stool and cushion for the sexton!
Sext.
Which be the malefactors?
Verg.
Marry, that am I and my partner.
Dogb.
Nay, that's certain, we have the exhibition
to examine.
Sext.
But which are the offenders, that are to be examin'd?
Let them come before master Town Clerk.
To. Cl.
Yea, marry, let them come before me; what
is your name, friend?
Bora.
Borachio.
-- 368 --
To. Cl.
Pray write down Borachio. Your's, sirrah?
Conr.
I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.
To. Cl.
Write down, master gentleman Conrade; masters,
do you serve Heav'n?
Both.
Yea, sir, we hope.
To. Cl.
Write down, that they hope they serve Heaven:
and write Heaven first: for Heaven defend, but
Heav'n should go before such villains—Masters, it is
proved already that you are little better than false
knaves, and it will go near to be thought so, shortly;
how answer you for yourselves?
Conr.
Marry, sir, we say we are none.
To. Cl.
A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you, but
I will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah;
a word in your ear, sir; I say to you, it is thought you
are false knaves.
Bora.
Sir, I say to you, we are none.
To. Cl.
Well, stand aside; 'fore Heaven they are
both in a tale: have you writ down that they are none?
Sext.
Master town clerk, you go not the way to examine;
you must call the watch, that are their accusers.
To. Cl.
Yea, marry, that's the easiest way; let the
watch come forth; masters, I charge you in the
prince's name, accuse these men.
Enter Watchmen.
1 Watch.
This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.
To. Cl.
Write down, Prince John, a villain; why
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother, villain.
Bora.
Master town-clerk.
To. Cl.
Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy
look, I promise thee.
Sexton.
What heard you him say, else?
2 Watch.
Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.
To. Cl.
Flat burglary, as ever was committed.
Dogb.
Yes, by th' mass, that it is.
Sexton.
What else, fellow?
-- 369 --
1 Watch.
And that Count Claudio did mean, upon
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly,
and not marry her.
To. Cl.
O villain! thou wilt be condemn'd into
everlasting redemption for this.
Sexton.
What else?
2 Watch.
This is all.
Sexton.
And this is more, masters, than you can
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stol'n
away: Hero was in this manner accus'd, and in this
very manner refus'd; and upon the grief of this, suddenly
died. Master constable, let these men be bound
and brought to Leonato; I will go before, and shew
him their examination.* note
[Exit.
Dogb.
Come, let them be opinion'd. Come, bind
them, thou naughty varlet!
Conr.
Away, you are an ass, you are an ass.
Dogb.
Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou
not suspect my years? O that he were here to write
me down an ass! but masters, remember that I am
an ass, though it be not written down, yet forget not
that I am an ass; no, thou villain, thou art full of
piety, as shall be prov'd upon thee, by good witness;
I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an officer; and
which is more, an housholder; and which is more, as
pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina, and one that
knows the law; go to; and a rich fellow enough, go
to; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that
hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about
him; bring him away. O that I had been writ down
an ass!
[Exeunt.† note
End of the Fourth Act.
-- 370 --
ACT V.
Scene
SCENE, before Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Antonio.
If you go on thus, you will kill yourself,
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief,
Against yourself.
Leon.
I pray thee, hold thy peace;
Give not me counsel,
Nor let no comfort e'er delight mine ear,
But such a one whose wrongs doth suit with mine:
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like me,
And bid him speak to me of patience;* note
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
The like himself; therefore give me no counsel.
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,
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
-- 371 --
However they have writ the stile of gods,
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.
Ant.
Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself,
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.
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.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.
Ant.
Here come the prince and Claudio, hastily.
Pedro.
Good den, good den.
Claud.
Good day to both of you.
Leon.
Hear you, my lords?
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.
Pedro.
Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.
Ant.
If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lie low.
Claud.
Who wrongs him, sir?
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,
If it should give your age such cause of fear;
In faith my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon.
Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me;
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool,
As under privilege of age to brag,
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old: know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd my innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by,
And with grey hairs and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man;
I say, thou hast belied my innocent child,
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
-- 372 --
And she lies bury'd with her ancestors;
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany!
Claud.
My villany!
Leon.
Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.
Pedro.
You say not right, old man.
Leon.
My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare;
Despight his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustihood.
Claud.
Away, I will not have to do with you.
Leon.
Canst thou so daffe* note me? Thou hast kill'd my child;
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
Ant.
He shall kill two of us, and men indeed;
But that's no matter, let him kill one first;
Win me and wear me, let him answer me;
Come, follow me, boy, follow me,
I'll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon.
Brother—
Ant.
Content yourself; Heav'n knows I lov'd my niece,
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains,
That dare as well answer a man, indeed,
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue!
Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops!
Leon.
Brother Anthony!
Ant.
Hold you content: what man? I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple:
Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-mongering boys,
That lye, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
And this is all.* note
-- 373 --
Leon.
But brother Anthony?
Ant.
Come, 'tis no matter,
Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.† note
Pedro.
Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death;
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing,
But what was true, and very full of proof.
Leon.
My lord, my lord—
Pedro.
I will not hear you.
Leon.
No! come, brother, away; I will be heard.
Ant.
And shall, or some of us will smart for it.
[Exeunt both.
Enter Benedick.
Pedro.
See, see, here comes the man we went to seek.
Claud.
Now, signior, what news?
Bene.
Good day, my lord.
Pedro.
Welcome, signior; you are almost come to
part almost a fray.
Claud.
We had like to have had our two noses snapt
off, by two old men without teeth.
Pedro.
Leonato and his brother; what think'st thou?
Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too
young for them.
Bene.
In a false quarrel there is no true valour: I
came to seek you both.‡ note
Claud.
We have been up and down to seek thee,
for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have
it beaten away: wilt thou use thy wit?
Bene.
It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it?
-- 374 --
Claud.
I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels;
draw to pleasure us.
Pedro.
As I am an honest man, he looks pale: art
thou sick, or angry?
Claud.
What! courage, man; what tho' care kill'd
a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Bene.
Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, if
you charge it against me. I pray you, chuse another
subject. I don't like it.
Pedro.
By this light, he changes more and more: I
think he be angry, indeed.
Claud.
If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene.
Shall I speak a word in your ear?
Claud.
Bless me from a challenge!
Bene.
You are a villain; I jest not. I will make
it good, how you dare, and what you dare, and when
you dare. Do me right, or I will protest your cowardise.
You have kill'd a sweet lady, and her death
shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.
Claud.
Well, I will meet you, so I may have good
cheer.
Pedro.
What, a feast?
Claud.
I'faith, I thank him, he hath bid me to a
calf's-head; the which if I do not carve most curiously,
say my knife's naught.
Bene.
Sir, your wit ambles well, it goes easily.
Pedro.
But when shall we set the savage bull's horns
on the sensible Benedick's head?
Claud.
Yea, and text underneath, here dwells Benedick,
the married man.
Bene.
Fare you well, boy, you know my mind; I
will leave you now, to your gossip-like humour; you
break jests, as braggarts do their blades, which, Heav'n
be thank'd, hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies,
I thank you; I must discontinue your company;
your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina; you
have among you kill'd a sweet and innocent lady.
For my lord lack-beard there, he and I shall meet;
and 'till then, peace be with him!
[Exit Benedick.
-- 375 --
Pedro.
He is in earnest.
Claud.
In most profound earnest; and I'll warrant
you for the love of Beatrice.
Pedro.
And hath challeng'd thee?
Claud.
Most sincerely.
Pedro.
What a pretty thing man is, when he goes
in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!
Enter Dogberry, Verges, Conrade, and Borachio, guarded.
Pedro.
But soft you, did he not say, my brother
was fled?
Dogb.
Come, you, sir, if justice cannot tame you,
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance;
nay, if you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be
look'd to.
Pedro.
How now! two of my brother's men bound?
Borachio one!
Claud.
Hearken after their offence, my lord.
Pedro.
Officers, what offence have these men done?
Dogb.
Marry, sir, they have committed false report;
moreover they have spoken untruths; secondarily,
they are slanders; sixthly and lastly, they have bely'd
a lady; thirdly, they have verify'd unjust things; and
to conclude, they are lying knaves.
Pedro.
First, I ask thee what they have done;
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixthly and
lastly, why they are committed; and to conclude,
what you lay to their charge?
Claud.
Rightly reason'd, and in his own division.
Pedro.
Whom have you offended, masters, that
you are thus bound to your answer? This learned
constable is too cunning to be understood. What's
your offence?
Bora.
Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine
answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me:
I have deceived even your very eyes; what your
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have
brought to light, who, in the night, overheard me
-- 376 --
confessing to this man, how Don John, your brother,
incens'd me to slander the lady Hero; how you were
brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret,
in Hero's garment; how you meant to disgrace her,
when you should marry her. My villany they have
upon record, which I had rather seal with my death,
than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead, upon
mine, and my master's false accusation: and, briefly,
I desire nothing but the reward of a villain.
Pedro.
Runs not this speech like iron through your
blood.
Claud.
I have drank poison, while he utter'd it.
Pedro.
But did my brother set thee on to this?
Bora.
Yea, paid me richly, for the practice of it.
Pedro.
He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery.
And fled he is, upon this villany.* note
Claud.
Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear,
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.
Dogb.
Come, bring away the plaintiffs. By this
time our sexton hath reform'd Signior Leonato of the
matter; and, masters, do not forget to specify, when
time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.
Verge.
Here, here comes master Signior Leonato,
and the sexton too.
Enter Leonato, Sexton, and Servants.
Leon.
Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes,
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him. Which of these is he?
Bora.
If you would know your wronger, look on me.
Leon.
Art thou, art thou the slave, that with thy breath
Has kill'd mine innocent child?
Bora.
Yea, even I alone.
Leon.
No, not so, villain, thou bely'st thyself;
-- 377 --
Here stand a pair of honourable men,
A third is fled, that had a hand in it.
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death;
Record it with your high and worthy deeds;
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Claud.
I know not how to pray your patience;
Yet I may speak. Chuse your revenge yourself,
Impose on me, what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin. Yet, I sinn'd not,
But in mistaking.
Pedro.
By my soul, nor I;
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight,
That he'll enjoin me to.
Leon.
You cannot bid my daughter live again;
That were impossible. But I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here,
How innocent she dy'd.
Come you to my house,
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter,
Almost a copy of my child that's dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us.
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.
Claud.
O, noble sir!
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me;
I do embrace your offer, and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
Leon.
I will expect your coming.
[Exit Pedr. and Claud.
This naughty man,
Shall face to face, be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by Don John.
Bora.
No, by my soul, she was not;
Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me,
But always hath been just and virtuous,
In any thing that I do know by her.
Dogb.
Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not under
-- 378 --
white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did
call me ass; I beseech you, let it be remembered in
his punishment; and also, the watch heard them talk
of one Deformed; I pray you examine him upon that
point.
Leon.
I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dogb.
Your worship speaks like a most thankful
and reverend youth; and I praise Heav'n for you.
Leon.
There's for thy pains.
Dogb.
Heav'n save the foundation!
Leon.
Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner; and I
thank thee.
Dogb.
I leave an errant knave with your worship,
which I beseech your worship to correct yourself, for
the example of others. Heav'n keep your worship;
I wish your worship well. Heav'n restore you to
health; I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a
merry meeting may be wish'd, Heav'n prohibit it. Come,
neighbour.
[Exeunt Dogberry and Constable.
Leon.
Bring you these fellows on, we'll talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, Leonato's House.
Enter Benedick and Margaret.
Bene.
Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve
well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.
Marg.
Will you then write me a sonnet, in praise
of my beauty?
Bene.
In so high a style, Margaret, that no man
living shall come over it; for in most comely truth,
thou deservest it.
Marg.
To have no man come over me? Why,
shall I always keep above stairs?
Bene.
Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's
mouth, it catches.
-- 379 --
Marg.
And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils,
which hit, but hurt not.
Bene.
A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not
hurt a woman; and so I pray thee, call Beatrice.
Marg.
Well, I will call Beatrice to you.
[Exit Margaret.
Bene. Sings.]
The god of love, that sits above.
No, I cannot sing. But for loving, Leander the good
swimmer, Trolius, the first employer of pandars, and
a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers,
whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a
blank verse, why, they never were so truly turn'd
over and over, as my poor self, in love. Marry, I
cannot shew it in rhime; I have try'd, I can find out
no rhime to lady, but baby, an innocent's rhime; for
school, fool, a babling rhime; for scorn, horn, a hard
rhime; very ominous endings; no, I was not born
under a rhiming planet, for I cannot woo in festival
terms.
Enter Beatrice.
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come, when I call thee?
Beat.
Yea, Signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene.
O, stay but till then.
Beat.
Then is spoken: fare you well now; and
yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which
is, with knowing what hath past between you and
Claudio.
Bene.
Only foul words, and thereupon I will kiss
thee.
Beat.
Foul words, are but foul wind, and foul
wind, is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome;
therefore, I will depart unkiss'd.
Bene.
Thou hast frighted the word out of its right
sense, so forceable is thy wit; but I must tell thee
plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and, either
I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him
-- 380 --
a coward. And I pray thee now tell me, for which
of my bad parts, didst thou first fall in love with me?
Beat.
For them all together, which maintain'd so
politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good
part to intermingle with them. But for which of my
good parts did you first suffer love for me?
Bene.
Suffer love! a good epithet. I do suffer love,
indeed, for I love thee against my will.
Beat.
In spight of your heart, I think. Alas! poor
heart! if you spight it for my sake, I will spight it
for yours; for I will never love that which my friend
hates.
Bene.
Thou and I are too wise, to woo peaceably.
Beat.
It appears not, in this confession. There's
not one wise man among twenty, that will praise himself.
Bene.
An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'd in
the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect,
in this age, his own tomb, ere he dies, he shall live no
longer in monuments, than the bells ring, and the
widow weeps.
Beat.
And how long is that, think you?* note
Bene.
Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter
in rheum; therefore, it is most expedient for the
wise, it Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment
to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own
virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising
myself, who, I myself, will bear witness, is praiseworthy.
And now, tell me, how doth your cousin?
Beat.
Very ill.
Bene.
And how do you?
Beat.
Very ill, too.
Enter Ursula.
Bene.
Say your prayers, love me, and mend; there
will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
-- 381 --
Ursu.
Madam, you must come to your uncle: it is
proved my lady Hero hath been falsely accus'd, the
prince and Claudio, mightily abus'd, and Don John
is the author of all, who is fled and gone.
Beat.
Will you go hear this news, signior?
Bene.
I will live in thy eyes, die in thy lap, and be
bury'd in thy heart; and moreover, I will go with
thee to thy uncle.* note
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, a Saloon in Leonato's House.† note
Enter Leonato, Benedick, Margaret, Ursula, Antonio, Friar, and Hero.
Friar.
Did not I tell you she was innocent?
Leon.
So are the prince, and Claudio, who accus'd her,
Upon the error that you heard debated.
But Margaret was in some fault for this;
Although against her will, as it appears.
Ant.
Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
Bene.
And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon.
Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,
And when I send for you, come hither mask'd.
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me. You know your office, brother,
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio.
[Exeunt Ladies.
Ant.
Which I will do, with confirm'd countenance.
Bene.
Friar, I must intreat your pains, I think.
Friar.
To do what, signior?
Bene.
To bind me, or undo me, one of them.
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me, with an eye of favour.
Leon.
That eye, my daughter lent her, 'tis most true.
Bene.
And I do, with an eye of love, requite her.
Leon.
The fight whereof, I think, you had from me,
From Claudio, and the prince. But, what's your will?
-- 382 --
Bene.
Your answer, sir, is enigmatical;
But for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day, to be conjoin'd
I'th' state of honourable marriage,
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon.
My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help.
Enter Don Pedro, and Claudio.
Pedro.
Hail to this fair assembly.
Leon.
We here attend you. Are you still determin'd
To marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud.
I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
Leon.
Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready.
Pedro.
Good-morrow, Benedick. Why, what's the matter,
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
Claud.
I think, he thinks upon the savage bull.
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,
And so all Europe shall rejoice at thee:
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene.
Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low,
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.* note
O, here they come.
Enter Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, and Ursula, mask'd.
Claud.
Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant.
This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud.
Why then, she's mine. Sweet, let me see your face?
Leon.
No, that you shall not, 'till you take her hand,
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.
Claud.
Give me your hand; before this holy friar,
I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero.
And when I liv'd, I was your other wife,
[Unmasking.
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.
-- 383 --
Claud.
Another Hero?
Hero.
Nothing certainer.
One Hero dy'd defil'd, but I do live;
And surely, as I live, I am a maid.
Pedro.
The former Hero! Hero, that is dead!
Leon.
She dy'd, my lord, but whiles her slander liv'd.† note
Friar.
All this amazement can I qualify.
When after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell thee largely of fair Hero's death:
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.
Bene.
Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?
Beat.
I answer to that name. What is your will?
Bene.
Do not you love me?
Beat.
Why, no; no more than reason.
Bene.
Why then your uncle, and the prince, and
Claudio, have been deceived; they swore you did.
Beat.
Do not you love me?
Bene.
Troth, no; no more than reason.
Beat.
Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula
are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.
Bene.
They swore you were almost sick for me.
Beat.
They swore you were well-nigh dead for me.
Bene.
'Tis no matter. Then you do not love me?
Beat.
No, truly, but in friendly recompence.
Leon.
Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.
Claud.
And I'll be sworn upon it, 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.
Bene.
A miracle! here's our own hands against
-- 384 --
our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but by this
light, I take thee for pity.
Beat.
I would yet deny you, but, by this good day,
I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your
life; for as I was told, you were in a consumption.
Bene.
Peace, I will stop your mouth.
Pedro.
How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?
Bene.
I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of witcrackers
cannot flout me out of my humour: dost thou
think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man
will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing
handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to
marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the
world can say against it. And therefore, never flout
at me, for what I have said against it; for man is a
giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part,
Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee, but in that
thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruis'd, and
love my cousin.
Claud.
I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied
Beatrice, that I might have cudgel'd thee.
Bene.
Come, come, we are friends, Let's have a
dance, e're we are marry'd, that we may lighten our
own hearts, and our wives' heels.
Leon.
We'll have dancing afterwards.
Bene.
First, o' my word; therefore, play music.
Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a
wife: there is no staff more reverend, than one tipt
with horn.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,
And brought, with armed men, back to Messina.* note
Bene.
Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise
thee brave punishments for him. Strike up,
pipers.
[Dance.
[Exeunt omnes.† note
End of the Fifth Act.
