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.
Exit, R.
END OF ACT II.
Charles Kean [1858], [Much Ado About Nothing. A Comedy, in five acts. By William Shakespeare, in] Lacy's acting edition of plays, dramas, farces, extravaganzas, etc. etc. as performed at the various theatres. Volume 35 containing Love Knot. Much Ado About Nothing. Ticklish Times. A Lucky Hit. Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady. Double Dummy. Spectre Bridegroom. Birthplace Of Podgers. Crossing The Line. Children of the Castle. Nothing Venture Nothing Win. Fra Diavolo (Burlesque). Margaret Catchpole. My Wife's Dentist. Schoolfellows. (Thomas Hailes Lacy [etc.], London) [word count] [S40500].
