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 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
