ACT II.Scene I.—A Ball Room in Leonato's House.Enter Leonato, L. U. E. meeting Antonio, R. 1 E.
Anton.
Brother, I can tell you news that you yet
dreamt not of. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in
a thick pleached alley in the orchard, were thus overheard
-- 14 --
by a man of mine: The prince discovered to Claudio that
he loved my niece, your daughter, and meant to acknowledge
it this night 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?
Anton.
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 we 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 Maskers cross the stage—then enter Hero, Beatrice, and others, R. 1 E.
Leon. (L. C.)
Was not Count John here at supper?
Anton. (C.)
I saw him not.
Beat. (R.)
How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can
see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after.
Hero. (R. C.)
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 so shrewd of thy tongue.
Beat.
For the which blessing I am upon my knees
every morning and evening: Lord! I could not endure
a husband with a beard on his face.
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
-- 13 --
is not for me; and he that is less than a man I am not for
him.
Anton. (who has been conversing with Hero)
Well,
niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father.
Beat.
Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make courtsey,
and say, “Father, as it please you:”—but yet for
all that cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else
make another courtsey, and say, “Father, as it please me.”
Leon.
Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted
with a husband.
Beat.
Not till heaven make men of some other metal
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered
with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account
of her life to a clod of wayward marl? 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; if the prince do solicit you
in that kind, you know your answer.
Beat.
The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be
not woo'd in good time: if the prince be too important,
tell him there is measure in everything, 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 ancestry; and then comes
repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace
faster and faster till he sinks into his grave.
Leon.
Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat.
I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by
daylight.
Leon.
The revellers are entering, brother; make good
room.
Music.—Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others masked, R. 1 E.
(Dance of Maskers.)
Don P. (C.)
Lady, will you walk about with your
friend?
Hero. (L. C.)
So you walk softly, and look sweetly,
-- 14 --
and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, especially,
when I walk away.
Don P.
With me in your company?
Hero.
I may say so, when I please.
Don P.
And when please you to say so?
Hero.
When I like your favour; for heaven defend,
the lute should be like the case!
Don P.
My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove.
Hero.
Why, then your visor should be thatch'd.
Don. P.
Speak low, if you speak love.
(Music—takes her aside, R., and up—during the above, Beatrice follows Benedick about—they come down)
Beat. (C.)
Will you not tell me who told you so?
Bened. (L., in a feigned voice)
No, you shall pardon me.
Beat.
Nor will you not tell me who are you?
Bened.
Not now.
Beat.
“That I was disdainful,—and that I had my good
wit out of the ‘Hundred merry Tales;’”—Well, this was
Signior Benedick that said so.
Bened.
What's he?
Beat.
I am sure you know him well enough.
Bened.
Not I, believe me.
Beat.
Did he never make you laugh?
Bened.
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 slanders: none but
libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in
his wit, but in his villainy; for he both pleaseth men and
angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him.
Bened.
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 marked, or not laughed at,
strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge's
wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night.
Music—the Company go off slowly, L. U. E.
We must follow the leaders.
(going up stage)
Bened.
In every good thing.
Beat.
Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at
the next turning.
All exeunt but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio.
-- 15 --
Don John. (C.)
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.
Borach. (R. C.)
And that is Claudio: I know him by
his bearing.
Don John. (going to Claudio)
Are not you Signior
Benedick?
Claudio. (L.)
You know me well; I am he.
Don John.
Signior, you are very near my brother in
his love: he is enamoured 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.
Claudio.
How know you he loves her?
Don John.
I heard him swear his affection.
Borach.
So did I too; and he swore he would marry
her to-night.
Don John.
Come, let us to the banquet.
Exeunt Don John and Borachio, L. U. E.
Claudio.
Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.
'Tis certain so;—the prince woos 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;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell, therefore, Hero! (crosses, R.)
Re-enter Benedick, L. U. E.
Bened.
Count Claudio?
Claudio.
Yea, the same.
Bened.
Come, will you go with me?
Claudio. (R. C.)
Whither?
Bened. (C.)
Even to the next willow, about your own
business, count. What fashion will you wear the garland
of! About your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under
your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it
one way, for the prince hath got your Hero.
-- 16 --
Claudio.
I wish him joy of her. (crosses, L.)
Bened.
Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; so
they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would
have served you thus?
Claudio.
I pray, you leave me. (crosses, R.)
Bened.
Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 't was
the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post.
Claudio.
If it will not be, I'll leave you.
Exit, L. U. E.
Bened.
Alas! poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep
into sedges. But that my lady Beatrice should know me,
and not know me! The prince's fool!—Ha, it may be I
go under that title, because I am merry.—Yea; but so I
am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so reputed: it is
the base though bitter disposition of Beatrice, that puts
the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well,
I'll be revenged as I may.
Re-enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Hero, R. U. E.; Leonato and Hero walk about at back.
Don P. (L. C.)
Now, Signior, where's the Count? Did
you see him?
Bened. (R. C.)
Troth, my lord, I have played the part
of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a
lodge in a warren; I told him, and I think told him true,
that your grace had got the will of this young lady; and
I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make
him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him a rod, as
being worthy to be whipped.
Don P.
To be whipped! What's his fault?
Bened.
The flat transgression of a schoolboy; who,
being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it his
companion, and he steals it.
Don P.
Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The
transgression is in the stealer.
Bened.
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 bestowed
on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest.
Don P.
I will but teach them to sing, and restore them
to the owner.
-- 17 --
Bened.
If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith, you say honestly.
Don P.
The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the
gentleman that danced with her told her she is much
wronged by you.
Bened. (C.)
O, she misused me past the endurance of
a block: an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would
have answered her; my very visor began to assume life
and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had
been myself, that I was the prince's jester, and that I was
duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with
such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a
man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me: She
speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath
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 transgressed: she would
have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, and have cleft
his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her, you
shall find her the infernal Até in good apparel. I would
to heaven some scholar would conjure her; for, certainly,
while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in
a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose because they
would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and
perturbation follow her. (crosses, L.)
Re-enter Claudio and Beatrice, L. U. E.
Don P. (C.)
Look, here she comes.
Bened. (L. C.)
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 toothpicker 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 beard; do you any
embassage to the Pigmies,—rather than hold three words'
conference with this harpy.—You have no employment
for me? (crosses)
Don P.
None, but to desire your good company.
Bened.
O lord, sir, here's a dish I love not; I cannot
endure my lady Tongue. (struggling from him off, R. 1 E.)
-- 18 --
Don P.
Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of
Signior Benedick.
Beat.
Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I
gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one:
marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore
your grace may well say I lost it.
Don P.
You have put him down, lady, you have put
him down.
Beat.
So I would not he should me, my lord, lest
I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count
Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
Don P.
Why, how now, count—wherefore are you sad?
Claudio.
Not sad, my lord.
Don P. (C.)
How then—sick?
Claudio. (L.)
Neither, my lord.
Beat. (L. C.)
The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor
merry, nor well; but civil, count, civil as an orange,
and something of that jealous complexion.
Don P.
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 heaven 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.
(going up and round to R.)
Claudio.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were
but little happy if I could say how much. (crosses, C.)
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours; I gave away myself
for you, and dote upon the exchange.
Beat.
Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth
with a kiss, and let not him speak neither. (they go up)
Don P.
In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat.
Yea, my lord, I thank it; poor fool, it keeps on
[unresolved image link]
-- 19 --
the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear
that he is in her heart.
Claudio.
And so she doth, cousin. (up stage)
Beat. (C.)
Good lord, for alliance thus goes every one
to the world but I, and I am sunburned; I may sit in a
corner and cry heigh-ho! for a husband!
Don P. (L. C.)
Will you have me, lady?
Beat. (C.)
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.
Don P.
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 cried; but then
there was a star danced, and under that was I born.—
(to Hero and Claudio) Cousins, heaven give you joy!
Leon. (L. C.)
Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?
Beat.
I cry you mercy, uncle. (crosses, R.)—By your
grace's pardon.
Beatrice curtseys to Don Pedro and goes off, R. 1 E.
Don P.
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
even sad then, for I have heard my daughter say, she
hath often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself
with laughing.
Don P.
She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband?
Leon.
Oh! by no means, she mocks all her wooers out
of suit.
Don P.
She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
Leon.
Oh lord! My lord, if they were but a week
married, they would talk themselves mad.
Don P.
Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
Claudio.
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.
(going up and round to R.)
Don P. (L. C.)
Come, you shake the head at so long a
breathing; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not
-- 20 --
go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one of
Hercules' labours, which is, to bring Signior Benedick
and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one
with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I
doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister
such assistance as I shall give you direction.
Leon. (R.)
My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten
nights' watchings.
Claudio. (C.)
And I, my lord.
Don P.
And you too, gentle Hero?
Hero. (R. C.)
I will do any modest office, my lord, to
help my cousin to a good husband.
Don P.
And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband
that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble
strain, of approved valour, and confirmed 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 despite of his quick wit
and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice.
If we can do this this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his
glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in
with me, and I will tell you my drift.
Exeunt, R. 1 E.Scene II.—A Hall in Leonato's House (1st grooves).Enter Don John and Borachio, R. 1 E.
Don John.
It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the
daughter of Leonato.
Borach.
Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
Don 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 cans't thou cross this marriage?
Borach.
Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that
no dishonesty shall appear in me.
Don John.
Show me briefly how.
Borach.
I think I told your lordship, a year since, how
much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman
to Hero.
Don John.
I remember.
Borach.
I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,
appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-window.
-- 21 --
Don John.
What life is in that, to be the death of this
marriage?
Borach.
The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go
you to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him, that
he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned
Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily hold up) to a
contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.
Don John.
What proof shall I make of that?
Borach.
Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look for any
other issue?
Don John.
Only to despite them, I will endeavour
anything.
Borach.
Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don
Pedro and the Count Claudio, alone: tell them that you
know that Hero loves me. 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 called assurance, and all the preparation
overthrown.
Don 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.
Borach.
Be you constant in the accusation, and my
cunning shall not shame me.
Don John.
I will presently go learn their day of marriage.
Exeunt Borachio and Don John, L. 1 E.
Scene III.—Leonato's Garden; several garden chairs, R. 2 E.; an arbour from R. 1 E.
Benedick discovered seated.
I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much another
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love,
will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in
others, become the argument of his own scorn, by falling
-- 22 --
in love: And such a man is Claudio. I have known
when there was no music 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 walked ten mile afoot
to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights
awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was
wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest
man and a soldier; and now is he turned orthographer;
his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with
these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be
sworn but love will 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 heaven.
Ha! the prince and monsieur Love! I will hide me in
the arbour.
Withdraws into arbour, R.[unresolved image link]Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, Balthazar, and Musicians, L. 1 E.
Don P.
Come, shall we hear this music?
Claudio.
Yea, my good lord.—How still the evening is,
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony!
Don P.
See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claudio.
O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.
Don P.
Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. (they sit—music)
-- 23 --
Balthazar sings.
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 you be blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, ladies, sing no mo,
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, &c.
Don P.
By my troth, a good song.
Balthaz.
And an ill singer, my lord.
Bened. (aside)
An he had been a dog that should have
howled thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray
his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as lief have heard
the night-raven, come what plague could have come
after it.
Don P.
Yea, marry; (to Claudio) Dost thou hear,
Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music; for
to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's
chamber-window.
Balthaz.
The best I can my lord.
Don P.
Do so: farewell.
Exit Balthazar and Musicians, L. 1 E.
Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of today?
that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior
Benedick?
Claudio.
O, ay:—Stalk on, stalk on: the fowl sits.
(aside to Pedro) I did never think that lady would have
loved any man.
Leona.
No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she
should so doat on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in
all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
-- 24 --
Bened. (listening, R.)
Is't possible? Sits the wind in
that corner?
Leon.
By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think
of it; but that she loves him with an enraged affection,
—it is past the infinite of thought.
Don P.
May be, she doth but counterfeit.
Claudio.
'Faith, like enough.
Leon.
Counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of
passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it.
Don P.
Why, what effects of passion shows she?
Claudio. (aside)
Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.
Leon.
What effects, my lord! She will sit you.—You
heard my daughter tell you how.
Claudio.
She did, indeed.
Don P.
How, how, I pray you? You amaze me:
(sitting) I would have thought her spiris had been invincible
against all assaults of affection.
Leon.
I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially
against Benedick. (sitting)
Bened. (aside)
I should think this a gull, but that the
white-bearded fellow speaks it; knavery cannot, sure,
hide himself in such reverence.
Claudio. (aside)
He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up.
Don P.
Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
Leon.
No; and swears she never will: that's her torment.
Claudio.
'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says.
“Shall I,” says she, that have so often encountered him
with scorn, write to him that I love him?” Then down
upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart,
tears her hair, prays, curses; “Oh, sweet Benedick!
Heaven give me patience!”
Leon.
She doth, indeed; my daughter says so: and
the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter
is sometimes afeard she will do desperate outrage to herself.
Don P.
It were good that Benedick knew of it by
some other, if she will not discover it.
Claudio.
To what end? He would but make a sport
of it, and torment the poor lady worse.
Don P.
An he should, it were an alms to hang him:
She's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion,
she is virtuous.
-- 25 --
Claudio.
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.
Don P.
Well, we will hear farther of it by your daughter;
let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and I could
wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much
he is unworthy so good a lady.
(a dinner bell rings, R.)
Leon.
My lord, will you walk? Dinner is ready. (they rise)
Claudio. (aside)
If he do not dote on her upon this, I
will never trust my expectation.
Don P. (aside)
Let there be the same net spread for her,
and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman 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. Let us send her to call him to dinner.
Exeunt, R.; Benedick advances softly to C.
Bened.
This can be no trick: the conference was sadly
borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They
seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections have their
full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. (crosses
to R.) I hear how I am censured; they say, I will bear
myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her:
they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign
of affection. I did never think to marry.—I must not seem
proud.—Happy are they that hear their detractions, and
can put them to mending. (returns to C.) 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
and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed
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 bachelor, I did not think I should
live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this
-- 26 --
day, she's a fair lady: (takes off his hat and wipes it—
adjusts his dress) I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice, R.
Beat. (R.)
Against my will, I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner.
Bened. (L. C.)
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.
Bened.
You take pleasure, then, in the message?
Beat.
Yea, must so much as you may take upon a knife's
point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach,
Signior; fare you well.
Exit, R.
Bened.
Ha! “Against my will I am sent to bid you
come in to dinner;”—there's a double meaning in that.
“I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take
pains to thank me”—that's as much as to say—any pains
that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take
pity on her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a
Jew. I will go get her picture.
