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.

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;

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.

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.

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.

Pedro.

For my life, to break with him, about Beatrice.

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.

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?

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

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.