Persons Represented.
Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon.
Leonato, Governor of Messina.
Don John, Bastard Brother to Don Pedro.
Claudio, a young Lord of Florence, Favourite to Don Pedro.
Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, favoured likewise by Don Pedro.
Balthazar [Balthasar], servant to Don Pedro.
Antonio, Brother to Leonato.
Borachio, Confident to Don John.
Conrade, Friend to Borachio.
Dogberry, foolish Officer.
Verges, foolish Officer.
Hero, Daughter to Leonato.
Beatrice, Niece to Leonato.
Margaret, Gentlewoman attending on Hero.
Ursula. Gentlewoman attending on Hero.
A Friar, Messenger, Watch, Town-Clerk, Sexton, and Attendants.[Boy], [Watch 1], [Watch 2], [Friar Francis], [Attendant],SCENE Messina in Sicily.note
note of the tales it comprehends, have made their appearance
in an English dress. Of that particular story which I
have just mentioned, viz. the 18th history in the third volume,
no translation has hitherto been met with.
Steevens.
A victory is twice itself, when the atchiever
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine,
call'd Claudio.
-- 252 --
Mess.
Much deserv'd 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: he hath, indeed,
better better'd expectation, than you must expect of
me to tell you how.
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
3note
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 truer4note than those that are so wash'd. How much
better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping?
He set up his bills here in Messina, and
challenged Cupid 8note
at the flight: and my uncle's fool,
-- 254 --
reading the challenge, subscrib'd for Cupid, and challenged
him at the bird-bolt.—I pray you, how many
-- 255 --
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 you9note
, I doubt it not.
Mess.
He hath done good service, lady, in these
wars.
Beat.
You had musty victual, and he hath holp
to eat it: 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?
Mess.
A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuff'd with
all honourable virtues1note
.
Beat.
It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuff'd
man2note: but for the stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.
-- 256 --
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 3note
five wits went halting off, and
now is the whole man govern'd with one: so that if
he have 4note
wit enough to keep himself warm, let him
-- 257 --
bear it for a difference between himself and his
horse; for it is all the wealth 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: 5notehe wears his faith but
as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the
next block6note
No: an he were, I would burn my study.
But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no
8noteyoung squarer now, that will make a voyage with
him to the devil?
-- 259 --
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 pounds ere he be cur'd.
Mess.
I will hold friends with you, lady.
Beat.
Do, good friend.
Leon.
You'll ne'er run mad, niece.
Beat.
No, not 'till a hot January.
Mess.
Don Pedro is approach'd.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar, and Don John.
Pedro.
Good Signior Leonato, you are come to
meet 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 9notecharge too willingly.—
I think, this is your daughter.
Leon.
Her mother hath many times told me so.
Bene.
Were you in doubt, sir, that you ask'd her?
Leon.
Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a
child.
Pedro.
You have it full, Benedick: we may guess
by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady
fathers herself:—Be happy, lady! for you are like an
honourable father.
Bene.
If signior Leonato be her father, she would
-- 260 --
not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as
like him as she is.
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 Benedick1note
?
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.
Beat.
A dear happiness to women; they would else
have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank
God, 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.
Bene.
God 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, an 'twere
such a face as yours were.
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 o'God's name; I have done.
Beat.
You always end with a jade's trick; I know
you of old.
Pedro.
This is the sum of all: Leonato,—signior
Claudio, and signior Benedick,—my dear friend Leonato
-- 261 --
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 you2note: 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, 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 me speak after my custom, as being a professed
tyrant to their sex?
Claud.
No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment.
Bene.
Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for
a 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.
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
a good hare-finder,
and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key
shall a man take you, to go in the song4note?
Claud.
In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that I
ever looked on.
Bene.
I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no
such matter: there's her cousin, an she were not possess'd
with 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?
-- 263 --
Claud.
I would scarce trust myself, though I had
sworn the contrary, if Hero would by my wife.
Bene.
Is't come to this, i'faith? Hath not the
world one man, but he will wear 5notehis cap with suspicion?
Shall I never see a batchelor of threescore
again? Go to, i'faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy
neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and 6note
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'd not to Leonato's?
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 who?—now that is your grace's
part.—mark, how short his answer is:—With Hero,
Leonato's short daughter.
Like the old tale, my lord: it is not so, nor
'twas not so; but, indeed, God forbid it should be
so.
Claud.
If my passion change not shortly, God 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, 2notebut
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
winded in my forehead3note
, all women shall pardon me: Because
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
batchelor.
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 mine 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 argument5note.
shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him be clap'd
on the shoulder, and call'd7note
Adam.
Pedro.
Well, as time shall try:
In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke8note.
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 isgood horse to hire, let them signify under my sign,—
Here you may see Benedick the marry'd man.
Claud.
If this should ever happen, thou would'st
be horn-mad.
Pedro.
Nay, 9noteif Cupid hath not spent all his quiver
in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.
-- 267 --
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—
Claud.
To the tuition of God; 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 sometime guarded with fragments1note
, and
the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere
2noteyou stout old ends any further, examine your conscience;
and so I leave you.
[Exit.
Claud.
My liege, your highness now may 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 lesson 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,
-- 268 --
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.
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 will break with her, and with her father,
And thou shalt have 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 complection!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.
Pedro.
What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
3noteThe fairest grant is the necessity:
Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, thou lov'st;
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.
-- 269 --
SCENE II.A Room in Leonato's House.Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Leo.
How now, brother? Where is my cousin,
your son? Hath he provided this musick?
Ant.
He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can
tell you news that you yet dream'd not of.
Leon.
Are they good?
Ant.
As the event stamps them; but they have a
good cover, they show well outward. The prince
and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley4note
in my orchard, were thus overheard by a man of
mine: The prince discover'd to Claudio, that he
lov'd my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge
it this evening in a dance; and, if he found her
accordant, he meant to take the present time by the
top, and instantly break with you of it.
Leon.
Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?
Ant.
A good sharp fellow; I will send for him,
and question him yourself.
Leon.
No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it
appear itself:—but I will acquaint my daughter
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an
answer, if peradventure this be true: Go you, and
tell her of it. [Several Servants cross the stage here.]Cousin, you know 9Q0228 what you have to do.—O, I
cry you mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will
use your skill:—Good cousin, have a care this busy
time.
[Exeunt
-- 270 --
SCENE III.Another Apartment in Leonato's House.Enter Don John 9Q0229 and Conrade.
Conr.
What the good-jer, my lord5note! 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 am6note: I must be sad when I have cause, and
smile at no man's jests; eat when I have 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 7noteclaw no man in his humour.
Conr.
Yea, but you must not make the full show of
this, till you may do it without controulment. You
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
-- 271 --
that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame
the season for your own harvest.
canker in a hedge, than a
rose in his grace 9Q0230; 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 muzzle,
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 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
-- 272 --
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! How come
you to know this?
Bora.
Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was
smoaking a musty room, comes me the prince and
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference9note: I whipt me
behind the arras; and there heard it agreed upon,
that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and
having obtained her, give her to count Claudio.
John.
Come, come, let us thither; this may prove
food to my displeasure: that young start-up hath
all the glory of my overthrow; if I can cross him
any way, I bless myself every way: You are both
sure1note, 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!—Shall we go prove what's to be
done?
Bora.
We'll wait upon your lordship.
[Exeunt.
-- 273 --
ACT II.SCENE I.A Hall in Leonato's House.Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, and Ursula. 9Q0231
Leo.
Was not count John here at supper?
Ant.
I saw him not.
Beat.
How tartly that gentleman looks! I never
can see him, but I am heart-burn'd an hour after2note.
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
good will.
Leon.
By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee
a husband, if thou be'st so shrewd of thy tongue.
Ant.
In faith, she's too curst.
Beat.
Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen
God's sending that way: for it is said, God sends acurst cow short horns; but to a cow too curst he sends
none.
Leon.
So, by being too curst, God will send you
no horns.
Beat.
Just, if he send me no husband; for the
which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every
-- 274 --
morning and evening: Lord! I could not endure
a husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie
in woollen3note.
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 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 bear-herd, and lead
his apes into hell.
No; but to the gate: and there will the devil
meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his
head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you toheaven; here's no place for you maids: so deliver I up
my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens;
he shews me where the batchelors sit, and there live
we as merry as the day is long.
Ant.
Well, niece, I trust, you will be rul'd by your
father.
[To Hero.
Beat.
Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make a
curtsy, and say, Father, as it please you:—but yet for
all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else
make another curtsy, and say, Father, as it please me.
Leon.
Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted
with a husband.
-- 275 --
Beat.
Not till God make men of some other metal
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be
over-master'd with a piece of valiant dust? to make
account of her life to a clod of wayward 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
6note
important, tell him, there is measure in every thing,
and so dance out the answer. For hear me, Hero,
Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as 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 sink into his grave.
Leon.
Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat.
I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church
by day-light.
Leon.
The revellers are entring; brother, make
good room.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar7note; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others mask'd.
Pedro.
Lady, will you walk about 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.
-- 276 --
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 God defend,
the lute should be like the case!
So would not I, for your own sake; for I
have many ill qualities.
Bene.
Which is one?
Marg.
I say my prayers aloud.
Bene.
I love you the better; the hearers may cry
amen2note.
Marg.
God match me with a good dancer!
Balth.
Amen.
Marg.
And God keep him out of my sight when
the dance is done!—Answer, clerk.
Balth.
No more words; the clerk is answer'd.
Urs.
I know you well enough; you are signior
Antonio.
Ant.
At a word, I am not.
Urs.
I know you by the wagling of your head.
Ant.
To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
Urs.
You could never do him so ill-well, unless
you were the very man: Here's his dry hand3note up and
down; you are he, you are he.
Ant.
At a word, I am not.
Urs.
Come, come; do you think, I do not know
you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself?
Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and
there's an end.
-- 278 --
Beat.
Will you not tell me who told you so?
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 wit out of the Hundred merry Tales4note
;—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; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders5note
:
none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation
is not in his wit, but in his villainy6note; for he
both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then they
-- 279 --
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.
[Musick within.
Bene.
In every good thing.
Beat.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them
at the next turning.
Manent John, Borachio, and Claudio.
John.
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.
Bora.
And that is Claudio: I know, him by his
bearing7note
.
John.
Are you not 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?
John.
I heard him swear his affection.
Bora.
So did I too; and he swore he would marry
her to-night.
John.
Come, let us to the banquet.
[Exeunt John and Bora.
Claud.
Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.—
-- 280 --
'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 their own tongues; 9Q0234
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch8note,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell therefore, Hero!
Re-enter Benedick.
Bene.
Count Claudio?
Claud.
Yea, 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
chain9note
? 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 serv'd you thus?
-- 281 --
Claud.
I pray you leave me.
Bene.
Ho! 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: 1note
it is the base, though 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.
Re-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 warren2note; I told him, and, I think, I told
him true, that your grace had got the good will of this
young lady3note; and I offered him my company to a
-- 282 --
willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being
forsaken, or to bind him up 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 is
much wrong'd by you.
Bene.
O, she misus'd me past the endurance 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 4note
such impossible conveyance 9Q0235, upon me,
-- 283 --
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 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 spit; yea, and have cleft his
club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her;
you shall find her the 5note
infernal Até in good apparel.
I would to God, 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,
-- 284 --
indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow
her.
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 now from the farthest
inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's
foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard6note
;
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 God, sir, here's a dish I love not; I cannot
endure my lady Tongue7note.
Pedro.
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart
of signior Benedick.
Beat.
Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and
I gave him use for it, a double heart for a single one:
marry, once before he won it of me with false dice,
therefore your grace may well say, I have lost it.
Pedro.
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. I have
brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
-- 285 --
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, and something of that jealous complexion8note.
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 God give thee joy!
Leon.
Count, take of me my daughter, and with
her my fortunes: his grace hath 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 him not 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.
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.
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, God give you joy.
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.
Leon.
There's little of the melancholy element in
her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she sleeps;
and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter
say, 9note
she hath often dream'd of unhappiness,
and wak'd herself with laughing.
-- 287 --
Pedro.
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
Leon.
O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers
out of suit.
Pedro.
She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
Leon.
O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week
marry'd, they would talk themselves mad.
Pedro.
Count Claudio, when mean you to go to
church?
Claud.
To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches,
till love have all his rites.
Leon.
Not till monday, my dear son, which is hence
a just seven-night; 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' labours; which is, 1note
to bring
-- 288 --
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
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
-- 289 --
shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in
with me, and I will tell you my drift.
[Exeunt.SCENE II.Another Apartment in Leonato's House.Enter Don John and Borachio.
John.
It is 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 this 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, and kill Leonato: Look
you for any other issue?
Don Pedro, and the count Claudio, alone: tell them,
that you know, Hero loves me; intend a kind of
zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as—in a 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 scarcely 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 Claudio; 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 truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy
shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown.
John.
Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will
put it in practice: Be cunning in the working 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 III.Leonato's Orchard.Enter Benedick and a Boy.
Bene.
Boy,—
Boy.
Signior.
Bene.
In my chamber-window lies a book; bring
it hither to me in the orchard.
Boy.
I am here already, sir.
Bene.
I know that;—but I would have thee hence,
and here again. [Exit Boy.]—I do much wonder,
that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool
when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after
-- 292 --
he hath laugh'd 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, when he would have
walk'd ten mile afoot, to see a good armour; and
now will he lye ten nights awake, carving the fashion
of a new doublet4note. He was wont to speak plain, and
to the purpose, like an honest man, and a soldier;
and now is he turn'd orthographer5note; 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 for an angel; of good discourse,
an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what
colour it please God6note
. Ha! the prince and monsieur
Love! I will hide me in the arbour.
[Withdraws.
-- 293 --
Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, and Balthazar.
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?
Claud.
O very well, my lord: the musick ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox 7note
with a penny-worth.
Pedro.
Come, Balthazar, 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.
Because you talk of wooing, I will sing:
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes;
Yet will he swear, he loves.
-- 294 --
Pedro.
Nay, pray thee, come:
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balth.
Note this before my notes,
There's not a note of mine, that's worth the noting.
Pedro.
Why these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting!
Bene.
Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish'd!—
Is it not strange, that sheeps guts should hale 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 bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The frauds of men were ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, &c.
Pedro.
By my troth, a good song.
Balth.
And an ill finger, my lord.
Pedro.
Ha? no; no, faith; thou sing'st well
enough for a shift.
Bene. [Aside.]
An he had been a dog, that should
have howl'd thus, they would have hang'd him: and,
I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had
as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague
could have come after it.
-- 295 --
Pedro.
Yea, marry;—Dost thou hear, Balthazar?
I pray thee, get us some excellent musick; for tomorrow
night we would have it at the lady Hero's
chamber-window.
Balth.
The best I can, my lord.
[Exit Balthazar.
Pedro.
Do so: farewell. Come hither, Leonato;
What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece
Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick?
.
[Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would
have loved any man.
Leon.
No, nor I neither; but most wonderful,
that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom
she hath in all outward behaviours seem'd ever to
abhor.
Bene.
Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
[Aside.
Leon.
By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to
think of it, 9note
but that she loves him with an enraged
affection 9Q0236:—it is past the infinite of thought.
-- 296 --
Pedro.
May be, she doth but counterfeit.
Claud.
Faith, like enough.
Leon.
O God! counterfeit! There never was 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; this fish will bite.
[Aside.
Leon.
What effects, my lord! She will sit 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. [Aside.]
I should think this a gull, but that
the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot,
sure, hide himself in such reverence.
-- 297 --
Claud.
He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up.
[Aside.
Pedro.
Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
Leon.
No; and swears she never will: that's her
torment.
Claud.
'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says:
Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter'd him withscorn, write to him that I love him?
Leon.
This says she now when she is beginning to
write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night;
and there she will sit in her smock, 'till she have writ
a sheet of paper:9Q0237—my daughter tells us all.
Claud.
Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember
a pretty jest your daughter told us of.
Leon.
Oh,—When she had writ it, and was reading
it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between
the sheet?—
O, she tore the letter into a thousand half-pence;
rail'd at herself, that she should be so immodest
to write to one that she knew would flout
her: I measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for, I
-- 298 --
should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him,
I should.
Claud.
Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps,
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses;—
O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!
Leon.
She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and
the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my
daughter is sometime afraid she will do desperate
outrage to herself; It is very true.
Pedro.
It were good, that Benedick knew of it by
some other, if she will not discover it.
Claud.
To what end? He would but make a sport
of it, and torment the poor lady worse.
Pedro.
An he should, it were an alms to hang him:
She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,
she is virtuous.
Claud.
And she is exceeding wise.
Pedro.
In every thing, but in loving Benedick.
Leon.
O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in
so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that
blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have
just cause, being her uncle and her guardian.
Pedro.
I would, she had bestow'd this dotage on
me; I would have daff'd2note
all other respects, and made
her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and
hear what he will say.
Leon.
Were it good think you?
Claud.
Hero thinks surely, she will die: for she
says, she will die if he love her not; and she will die
ere she make her love known; and she will die if he
woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her
accustom'd crossness.
Pedro.
She doth well: if she should make tender
of her love, 'tis very possible, he'll scorn it; for the
-- 299 --
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.3note
.
Claud.
He is a very proper man.
Pedro.
He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness.
Claud.
'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise.
Pedro.
He doth, indeed, shew some sparks that are
like wit.
Leon.
And I take him to be valiant.
Pedro.
As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing
of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either
he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes
them with a christian-like fear.
Leon.
If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep
peace; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into
a quarrel with fear and trembling.
Pedro.
And so will he do; for the man doth fear
God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some large
jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece:
Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?
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
-- 300 --
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 dote on her upon this, I will
never trust my expectation.
[Aside.
Pedro.
Let there be the same net spread for her,
and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen
carry. The sport will be, when they hold an opinion
of one another's dotage, and no such matter; that's
the scene that I would see, which will be meerly a
dumb show. Let us send her to call him to dinner.
[Aside][Exeunt.Benedick advances from the arbour.
Bene.
This can be no trick: The conference was
sadly borne2note
.—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 censur'd: 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 have some odd quirks
-- 301 --
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:—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.
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 as 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! Against my will I am sent to bid you comein to dinner—there's a double meaning in that. Itook no more pains for those thanks, than you take painsto 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.
[Exit.
-- 302 --
ACT III.SCENE I.Continues in the Orchard.Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero.
Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour;
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio5note:
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,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter;—like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it:—there will she hide her,
To listen our propose6note: This is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Marg.
I'll make her come, I warrant you, 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.
-- 303 --
Enter Beatrice, behind.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urs.
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture:
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.—
[They advance to the bower.
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock7note
.
Urs.
But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?
Hero.
So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord?
Urs.
And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?
Hero.
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.
Urs.
Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
-- 304 --
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed8note
,
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,
9note
Misprising 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.
Urs.
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 backward1note: if fair-fac'd,
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
2note
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed;
3note
If low, an aglet very vilely cut:
-- 305 --
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.
Urs.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero.
No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
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 9Q0238with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks;
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 9Q0239
-- 306 --
Urs.
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 empoison liking.
Urs.
O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.
Hero.
He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Urs.
I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, 4noteargument, and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
Hero.
Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.
Urs.
His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.—
When are you marry'd, 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.
She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam.
Hero.
If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt.
-- 307 --
Beatrice advancing.
Beat. 6noteWhat fire is in mine ears? 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 hand7note;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band:
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit.SCENE II.Leonato's House.Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato.
Pedro.
I do but stay till your marriage be consummate,
and then go I toward Arragon.
Claud.
I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.
Pedro.
Nay, that would be as great a soil in the
new gloss of your marriage8note
, as to shew a child his
new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be
bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the
crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all
-- 308 --
mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring,
and the little hangman dare not shoot at him9note
:
he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue
is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue
speaks1note
.
Bene.
Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon.
So say I; methinks, you are sadder.
Claud.
I hope, he be 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!
Claud.
You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.
Pedro.
What? sigh for the tooth-ach?
Leon.
Where 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.
Pedro.
2noteThere is no appearance of fancy in him,
unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises;
as to be a Dutch man to-day; a French man to-morrow;
-- 309 --
or in the shape of two countries at once; as a
German from the waist downward, all slops3note
; and a
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: Unless
he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath,
he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it to appear
he is.
Claud.
If he be not in love with some woman,
there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o'
mornings: What should that bode?
Pedro.
Hath any man seen him at the barber's?
Claud.
No, but the barber's man hath been seen
with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath
already stuff'd tennis-balls. 9Q0240
Leon.
Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by
the loss of a beard.
Pedro.
Nay, he rubs hmself 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.
Claud.
And when was he wont to wash his face?
Pedro.
Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I
hear what they say of him.
Claud.
Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now
crept into a lute-string, and now govern'd by stops.
Pedro.
Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him:
Conclude, 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.
signior, walk aside with me; I have studied eight
or nine wise words to speak to you, which these
hobby-horses must not hear.
[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
Pedro.
For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.
Claud.
'Tis even so: Hero and Margaret have
by this time 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, God 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 marry'd 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
-- 312 --
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 Hero5note
.
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 tonight,
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
-- 313 --
my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and
let the issue shew itself.
Pedro.
O day untowardly turned!
Claud.
O mischief strangely thwarting!
John.
O plague right well prevented!
So you will say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt.SCENE III.The Street.Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.
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 charge6note, neighbour
Dogberry.
Dogb.
First, who think you the most desartless man
to be constable?
1 Watch.
Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal;
for they can write and read.
Dogb.
Come hither, neighbour Seacoal: God hath
bless'd 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; I knew it would be your answer.
-- 314 --
Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God
thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing
and reading, let that appear when there is 7note
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 God 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, 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
stolen8note
[unresolved image link]
:—Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses,
and bid them that are drunk get them to bed.
-- 315 --
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.
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 always been 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.
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
-- 316 --
wake her with crying: for the ewe that will not hear
her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when
he bleats.
-- 317 --
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, by'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.
By'rlady, I think, it be so.
Dogb.
Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night:
an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me:
keep your fellows' counsels 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 being there to-morrow, there is a great coil
to night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you.
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bora.
What! Conrade,—
Watch.
Peace, stir not.
[Aside.
Bora.
Conrade, I say!
Conr.
Here, man, I am at thy elbow.
-- 318 --
Bora.
Mass, and my elbow itch'd; I thought, there
would a scab follow?
Conr.
I will owe thee an answer for that; and now
forward with thy tale.
Bora.
Stand thee close then under this pent-house,
for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard,
utter all to thee.
Watch. [Aside.]
Some treason, masters; yet stand
close.
Bora.
Therefore know, I have earned of Don
John a thousand ducats.
Conr.
Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear?
Bora.
Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible
1note
any villainy should be so rich: 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, 2notethou 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 see'st thou not, what a deformed thief this fashion
is?
Watch.
I know that Deformed; he has been a vile
thief these seven year; 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?
-- 319 --
sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in
the reechy 3note
painting; sometime, like god Bel's
priests in the old church window; 4note
sometime, like
the shaven Hercules in the 5note
smirch'd worm-eaten
tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his
club?
Conr.
All this I see; and see, that the fashion
wears out more apparel than the man: But art not
-- 320 --
thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou
hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the
fashion?
Bora.
Not so neither: but know, that I have tonight
wooed 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 afar 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;
and partly by his oaths, which first possess'd them,
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,
but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any
slander that Don John had made, 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 commonwealth.
1 Watch.
And one Deformed is one of them; I
know him, he wears a lock6note
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, if the
hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most
rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the dutchess of Milan's
gown, that they praise so.
Hero.
O, that exceeds, they say.
Marg.
By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect
of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and lac'd
with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves,
and skirts round, underborne with a blueish tinsel:
but for a fine, quaint, 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
man.
Hero.
Fie upon thee! art not asham'd?
Marg.
Of what, lady? of speaking honourably?
Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is
not your lord honourable without marriage? I
-- 323 --
think you would have me say, saving your reverence,
—a husband: an bad thinking do not wrest
true speaking, I'll offend no body: Is there any harm
in—the heavier for a husband? None, I think, an it
be the right husband, and the right wife; otherwise,
'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Beatrice else,
here she comes.
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,
by'r-lady, 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 o'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
-- 326 --
his heart, 5notehe 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 that thy tongue keeps?
Marg.
Not a false gallop.
Re-enter Ursula.
Urs.
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 to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula.
[Exeunt.SCENE V.Another Apartment in Leonato's House.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, honest, as the skin between his brows6note.
I am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester
than I.
Dogb.
Comparisons are odorous: palabras8note, neighbour
Verges.
Leon.
Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb.
It pleases your worship to say so, but we are
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 of your worship.
Leon.
All thy tediousness on me! ha!
Dogb.
Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more
than 'tis: for I hear as good exclamation on your
worship, as of any man in the city; and though 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 of 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; God
help us! it is a world to see!* note—Well said, i'faith,
; an
two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind1note
:—
An honest soul, i'faith, sir; by my troth he is, as
ever broke bread: but, God 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 God gives.
Leon.
I must leave you.
Dogb.
One word, sir: our watch have, indeed,
comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would
have them this morning examin'd before your worship.
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.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.
-- 329 --
Leon.
I will wait upon them; I am ready.
[Exit Leonato.
Dogb.
Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis
Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the
jail; we are now to examination these men.
Verg.
And we must do it wisely.
Dogb.
We will spare for no wit, I warrant you;
here's that [touching his forehead] shall drive some of
them to a non-com: only get the learned writer to
set down our excommunication, and meet me at the
jail.
[Exeunt.ACT IV.SCENE I.A Church.Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice.
Leon.
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 marry'd to this
count?
Hero.
I do.
Friar.
If either of you know any inward impediment
why you should not be conjoined, 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.
-- 330 --
Claud.
O what men dare do! what men may do! what
Men daily do! not knowing what they do!
Bene.
How now! Interjections? Why, then 2notesome
be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he!
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 learn me noble thankfulness.—
There, Leonato, take her back again;
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
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!
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shews? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed3note
:
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.
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity,—
Claud.
I know what you would say; If I have known her,
You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the forehand sin:
No, Leonato,
I never tempted her with word too large5note;
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 it6note
:
-- 332 --
You seem to me as Dian in her orb;
As chaste as is the bud7note 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?
I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
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 God!
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 power8note
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
Leon.
I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero.
O God defend me! how I am 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 itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
-- 333 --
Hero.
I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
Pedro.
Why, then you are no maiden.—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 villain9note
,
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 spoke of;
There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence, to utter them: Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.
Claud.
O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been1note
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! farewel,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity!
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, 9Q0241
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
-- 334 --
Leon.
Hath no man's dagger here a point for me2note
?
Beat.
Why, how now, cousin, wherefore sink you down? [Hero swoons.
John.
Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light,
Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio.
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?
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 blood3note?—
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For did I think, thou would'st not quickly die,
Thought I, thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one?
Child I for that at frugal nature's frame4note
?
-- 335 --
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates;
Who smeared thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on4note
; mine so much,
-- 336 --
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she—O, she, is fallen
Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!
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 bely'd!
Bene.
Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?
Beat.
No, truly, not; although, 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 two princes lie? and Claudio lie?
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 been silent 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,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
-- 337 --
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.
Leon.
Friar, it cannot be:
Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
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 of5note?
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 honour6note;
-- 338 --
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.
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.
Time hath not yet so dry'd this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar.
Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead7note
;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed:
Maintain a mourning 8noteostentation;
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.
Leon.
What shall become of this? What will this do?
-- 339 --
Friar.
Marry, this, well carry'd, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that, dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pity'd, and excus'd,
Of every hearer: For it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value9note
; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not shew us
Whiles it was ours:—So will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she dy'd upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she liv'd indeed:—then shall he mourn,
(If ever love had interest in his liver)
And wish he had not so accused her;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of the lady's death
-- 340 --
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her,
(As best befits her wounded reputation)
In some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene.
Signior 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 me1note.
Friar.
'Tis well consented; presently away;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.—
Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day,
Perhaps, is but prolong'd; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt.Manent Benedick and Beatrice2note.
Bene.
Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?
Beat.
Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
-- 341 --
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 lov'st me.
Beat.
Do not swear by it, and eat it.
Bene.
I will swear by it, that you love me; and I
will make him eat it, that says, I love not you.
Beat.
Will you not eat your word?
Bene.
With no sauce that can be devis'd to it: I
protest I love thee.
Beat.
Why then, God 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 it: Farewell.
-- 342 --
Bene.
Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
Beat.
I am gone, though I am here3note;—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.
,
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
publick accusation, uncover'd slander, unmitigated
rancour,—O God, 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.
Beat— 9Q0242
Beat.
Princes and counties5note! Surely, a princely
testimony, a goodly count-comfect6note; 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 curtesies, valour into compliment,
and men are only turned into tongue, and
-- 343 --
trim ones too7note: 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 a dear account:
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go comfort
your cousin: I must say, she is dead; and so farewell.
Write down—that they hope they serve
God:—and write God first; for God defend but God
should go before such villains!—Masters, it is proved
-- 345 --
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.
Dogb.
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.
Dogb.
Well, stand aside.—'Fore God, they are
both in a tale9note:—Have you writ down—that they are
none.
Sexton.
Master constable, you go not the way to
examine; you must call the watch that are their accusers.
Yea, marry, that's the eftest way:—Let
the watch come forth:—Masters, I charge you in the
prince's name accuse these men.
-- 346 --
Enter Watchmen.
1 Watch.
This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.
Dogb.
Write down—prince John a villain:—Why
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother—villain.
Bora.
Master constable,—
Dogb.
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 receiv'd a thousand
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero
wrongfully.
Dogb.
Flat burglary, as ever was committed.
Verg.
Yea, by the mass, that it is.
Sexton.
What else, fellow?
1 Watch.
And that count Claudio did mean, upon
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly,
and not marry her.
Dogb.
O villain! thou wilt be condemned 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 stolen
away; Hero was in this manner accus'd, in this
very manner refus'd, and upon the grief of this, suddenly
dy'd.—Master constable, let these men be
bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go before,
and shew him their examination.
God's my life! where's the sexton? let him
write down—the prince's officer, coxcomb.—Come,
bind them:—Thou naughty varlet!
-- 348 --
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 proved 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
is 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.ACT V.SCENE I.Before Leonato's House.Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Ant.
If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief
Against yourself.
Leon.
I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain;
-- 349 --
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard3note
; 9Q0244
And, sorrow wag! cry; hem, when he should groan;
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk
-- 350 --
With candle-wasters4note
; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
-- 351 --
But there is no such man: For, brother, men
Can counsel, and give comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ach with air, and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel;
My griefs cry louder than advertisement5note.
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;
However they have writ the style of gods6note
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:
-- 352 --
My soul doth tell me, Hero is bely'd;
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.
Ant.
Here comes 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 lye low.
Claud.
Who wrongs him?
Leon.
Marry, thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou!
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear thee not.
Claud.
Marry, beshrew my hand,
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 tryal of a man.
I say, thou hast bely'd mine innocent child,
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lyes bury'd with her ancestors:
-- 353 --
O, in a tomb where scandal never slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy!
Claud.
My villainy?
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 lustyhood.
Canst thou so daffe 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 indeed9note:
-- 354 --
But that's no matter; let him kill one first;—
Win me and wear me,—let him answer me:—
Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, follow me;
Sir, boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon.
Brother,—
Ant.
Content yourself: God 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:
Scambling1note, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys,
That lye, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
Go antickly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.
Leon.
But, brother Anthony,—
Ant.
Come 'tis no matter;
Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.
You are a villain;—I jest not:—I will make
it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when
you dare:—Do me right, or I will protest your
cowardice. 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.
-- 357 --
Pedro.
What, a feast? a feast?
Claud.
I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a
calves-head and a capon; the which if I do not carve
most curiously, say my knife's naught.—Shall I not
find a woodcock too?
Bene.
Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.
Pedro.
I'll tell thee, how Beatrice prais'd thy wit
the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True,
says she, a fine little one; No, said I, a great wit;
Right, said she, a great gross one; Nay, said I, a goodwit; Just, says she, it hurts no body; Nay, said I, thegentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a 5notewise gentleman;
Nay, said I, he hath the tongues; That I believe,
said she, for he swore a thing to me on monday night,
which he forswore on tuesday morning; there's a doubletongue, there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour
together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet, at
last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest
man in Italy.
Claud.
For the which she wept heartily, and said,
she car'd not.
Pedro.
Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an
if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him
dearly; the old man's daughter told us all.
Claud.
All, all; and moreover, God saw him whenhe was hid in the garden.
Pedro.
But when shall we set the savage bull's
horns on the sensible Benedick's head?
Claud.
Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedickthe 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, God
-- 358 --
be thanked, 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.
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.
6noteWhat 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.
Claud.
He is then a giant to an ape: but then is
an ape a doctor to such a man.
Pedro.
But, soft you, let be 9Q0245; pluck up my heart,
and be sad: 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, an 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; sixth and lastly, they have
bely'd a lady; thirdly, they have verify'd unjust
things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.
-- 359 --
Pedro.
First, I ask thee what they have done;
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and lastly,
why they are committed; and, to conclude, what
you lay to their charge?
Claud.
Rightly reason'd, and in his own division;
and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited7note.
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
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 garments; how you disgrac'd her, when
you should marry her: my villainy 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 drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.
Pedro.
But did my brother set thee on to this?
Bora.
Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.
Pedro.
He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery:—
And fled he is upon this villainy.
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
-- 360 --
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.
Verg.
Here, here comes master signior Leonato,
and the Sexton too.
Re-enter Leonato, and Antonio, with the Sexton.
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 the slave, that with thy breath hast kill'd
Mine innocent child?
Bora.
Yea, even I alone.
Leon.
No, not so villain; thou bely'st thyself;
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 must speak: Chuse your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I 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.
I cannot bid you bid my daughter live,
That were impossible; but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she dy'd: and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,
-- 361 --
And sing it to her bones; sing it to night:—
To-morrow morning 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 the copy of my child that's dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us8note;
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.
To-morrow then I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave.—This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, 9Q0246
Hir'd to it by your brother.
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
white and black) this plaintiff here, the offender, did
call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembred in
his punishment: And also, the watch heard them talk
of one Deformed: they say, he wears a 9notekey in his
-- 362 --
ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows money
in God's name; the which he hath us'd so long, and
never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and
will lend nothing for God's sake: 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 God for you.
Leon.
There's for thy pains.
Dogb.
God 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. God keep your worship;
I wish your worship well; God restore you to health:
I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry
meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it.—Come,
neighbour.
[Exeunt.
Leon.
Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
Ant.
Farewell, my lords; we look for you tomorrow.
Pedro.
We will not fail.
Claud.
To-night I'll mourn with Hero.
Leon.
Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Exeunt severally.
-- 363 --
SCENE II.A Room in Leonato's House.Enter Benedick, and Margaret, meeting.
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.
To have no man come over me? why,
shall I always keep below stairs?
Bene.
Thy wit is a quick as the greyhound's
mouth, it catches.
Marg.
And your's 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: I give
thee the bucklers2note
.
-- 364 --
Marg.
Give us the swords, we have bucklers of
our own.
Bene.
If you use them, Margaret, you must put in
the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons
for maids.
Marg.
Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I
think hath legs.
[Exit Margaret.
Bene.
And therefore will come.
[Sings.]
The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,—
I mean, in singing; but in loving,—Leander the
-- 365 --
good swimmer, Troilus 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 were never
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 rhime; for scorn, horn, a hard rhime; for
school, fool, a babbling rhime; very ominous endings:
No, I was not born under a rhiming planet,
for I cannot woo in festival terms.—
Enter Beatrice.
Sweet Beatrice, would'st 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 forcible 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 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
politick 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.
-- 366 --
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
3notein 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 monument, than the bell rings, and
the widow weeps.
Beat.
And how long is that, think you?
Bene.
4noteQuestion?—Why, an hour in clamour,
and a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient
for the wise, (if 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 praise-worthy) and now tell me, How doth your
cousin?
Beat.
Very ill.
Bene.
And how do you?
Beat.
Very ill too.
Bene.
Serve God, love me, and mend: there will
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs.
Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's
old coil at home: it is proved, my lady Hero
hath been falsely accus'd, the prince and Claudio
-- 367 --
mightily abus'd; and Don John is the author of all,
who is fled and gone: Will you come presently?
Beat.
Will you go hear this news, signior?
Bene.
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
bury'd in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with
thee to thy uncle.
[Exeunt.SCENE III.A Church.Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants with music and tapers.
Claud.
Is this the monument of Leonato?
Atten.
It is my lord.
Claudio reads.
Done to death 9Q0247 by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero, that here lies:
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
Gives her fame which never dies:
So the life, that dy'd with shame,
Lives in death with glorious fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising her when I am dumb.—
Now musick sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
SONG.
Pardon, Goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight7note
;
-- 368 --
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:
Graves, yawn and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,
Heavily, heavily.
Claud.
Now, unto thy bones good night!
Yearly will I do this rite.
Pedro.
Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey:
Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well.
Claud.
Good morrow, masters; each his several way.
Pedro.
Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;
And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud.
And Hymen now with luckier issue speed's6note
,
Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe! [Exeunt.
-- 369 --
SCENE IV.Leonato's House.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
In the true course of all the question.
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 entreat 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.
-- 370 --
Leon.
The sight whereof, I think, you had from me,
From Claudio and the prince; But what's your will?
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
In the estate of honourable marriage;—
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon.
My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants.
Pedro.
Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon.
Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio;
We here attend you; Are you yet determin'd
To-day 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. [Exit Antonio.
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 all Europa 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 leapt your father's cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. Re-enter Antonio, with Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, and Ursula, mask'd.
Claud.
For this I owe you: here come other reck'nings.
-- 371 --
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.
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.
Friar.
All this amazement can I qualify;
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you 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, that you were almost sick for me.
Beat.
They swore, that you were well-nigh dead for me.
-- 372 --
Bene.
'Tis no such 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't, 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 our
hearts!—Come, I will have thee; but, by this light,
I take thee for pity.
Beat.
7noteI would not deny you;—but, by this good
day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to
save your life, for I was told, you were in a consumption.
I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-
crackers 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 cudgell'd thee out of thy
single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out
of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look
exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene.
Come, come, we are friends:—let's have a
dance ere 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, musick.—
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.
-- 374 --
Bene.
Think not on him till to-morrow: I'll devise
thee brave punishments for him.—Strike up, pipers.
