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].
