Hero. (R. C.)
Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour,
There shalt thou find my cousin, Beatrice;
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us;
And bid her steal into the garden here,
To listen our purpose. This is thy office,
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

Marg.
I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. Exit Margaret, R.

Hero. (R.)
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 hearsay. (aside) Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. Enter Beatrice, R. U. E. and retires back on R.

Ursula. (C. aside)
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. (they walk backwards and forwards during the dialogue)

Hero. (C.)
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock. (going, R.)

Ursula.
But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

Hero.
So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.
They did entreat 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. (going, L.)

Ursula.
Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

Hero.
O, god of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice; (going, R.)
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matters else seem weak. She cannot love,
Nor take no shape, nor project of affection,
She is so self-endear'd.

Ursula.
Sure, I think so; (going, L.)

And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

Hero.
Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd,
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut:
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Ursula.
Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

Hero.
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like 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.

Ursula.
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.

Ursula.
Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong;
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so sweet and excellent a wit
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.

Hero.
Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

Ursula.
His excellence did earn it ere he had it.—
When are you married, madam?

Hero.
Why, in a day;—to-morrow. Come, go in:
I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel,
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. (going, R.)

Ursula.
She's limed, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam.(aside)

Hero. (aside)
If it proves so, then loving goes by haps;
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. Exeunt Hero and Ursula, R. 1 E. Beatrice advances cautiously.

Beat.
What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
  Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
  No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee:
  Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
  To bind our loves up in a holy band:
For others say, thou dost deserve; and I
Believe it better than reportingly. Exit, R.

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