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 after2 note.
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 a
curst 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 woollen3 note.
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.
Leo.
Well then, go you into hell4 note
?
Beat.
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 to
heaven; 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
6 note
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, Balthazar7 note; 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!
Pedro.
8 note
My visor is Philemon's roof; within the
house is Jove.
Hero.
Why, then your visor should be thatch'd.
Pedro.
Speak low, if you speak love9 note.
Bene.
Well, I would you did like me1 note.
-- 277 --
Marg.
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
amen2 note.
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 hand3 note 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 Tales4 note
;—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 slanders5 note
:
none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation
is not in his wit, but in his villainy6 note; 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
bearing7 note
.
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 witch8 note,
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
chain9 note
? 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: 1 note
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 warren2 note; I told him, and, I think, I told
him true, that your grace had got the good will of this
young lady3 note; 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 4 note
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 5 note
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 beard6 note
;
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 Tongue7 note.
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 complexion8 note.
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.
Claud.
And so she doth, cousin.
Beat.
Good lord, for alliance!—9 note
Thus goes every
-- 286 --
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, 9 note
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, 1 note
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.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
