Much Ado About Nothing By William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.

DON JOHN, his bastard Brother.

CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence.

BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua.

LEONATO, Governor of Messina.

ANTONIO, his Brother.

BALTHAZAR, Servant to Don Pedro.

BORACHIO, CONRADE, followers of Don John.

DOGBERRY, a Constable.

VERGES, a Headborough.

FRIAR FRANCIS.

A Sexton.

A Boy.

HERO, Daughter to Leonato.

BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato.

MARGARET, URSULA, Waiting-gentlewomen attending on Hero.

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.

SCENE—Messina.

ACT I, Scene i Before LEONATO’S house. Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a Messenger Leonato.   I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina. Messenger.   He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him. 5 Leonato.   How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? Messenger.   But few of any sort, and none of name. Leonato.   A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio. 10 Messenger.   Much deserved 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 bettered expectation than you must expect of me to 15 tell you how. Leonato.   He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Messenger.   I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could 20 not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness. Leonato.   Did he break out into tears? Messenger.   In great measure. Leonato.   A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces 25 truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping! Beatrice.   I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no? Messenger.   I know none of that name, lady: there was none such 30 in the army of any sort. Leonato.   What is he that you ask for, niece? Hero.   My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua. Messenger.   O, he’s returned; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beatrice.   He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged 35 Cupid at the flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing. 40 Leonato.   Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Messenger.   He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beatrice.   You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an 45 excellent stomach. Messenger.   And a good soldier too, lady. Beatrice.   And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord? Messenger.   A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues. 50 Beatrice.   It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man: but for the stuffing,-well, we are all mortal. Leonato.   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 55 between them. Beatrice.   Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him 60 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. Messenger.   Is’t possible? 65 Beatrice.   Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block. Messenger.   I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beatrice.   No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray 70 you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil? Messenger.   He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beatrice.   O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker 75 runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a’ be cured. Messenger.   I will hold friends with you, lady. Beatrice.   Do, good friend. 80 Leonato.   You will never run mad, niece. Beatrice.   No, not till a hot January. Messenger.   Don Pedro is approached. Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and BALTHASAR Don Pedro.   Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your 85 trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. Leonato.   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 90 and happiness takes his leave. Don Pedro.   You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter. Leonato.   Her mother hath many times told me so. Benedick.   Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? 95 Leonato.   Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. Don 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. 100 Benedick.   If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beatrice.   I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you. 105 Benedick.   What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice.   Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence. 110 Benedick.   Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved 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. Beatrice.   A dear happiness to women: they would else have 115 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. Benedick.   God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some 120 gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face. Beatrice.   Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such a face as yours were. Benedick.   Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 125 Beatrice.   A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. Benedick.   I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done. Beatrice.   You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old. 130 Don Pedro.   That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato 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 135 hypocrite, but prays from his heart. Leonato.   If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. To DON JOHN Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty. 140 Don John.   I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you. Leonato.   Please it your grace lead on? Don Pedro.   Your hand, Leonato; we will go together. Exeunt all except BENEDICK and CLAUDIO Claudio.   Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? Benedick.   I noted her not; but I looked on her. Claudio.   Is she not a modest young lady? Benedick.   Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak 150 after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex? Claudio.   No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment. Benedick.   Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can 155 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. Claudio.   Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her. 160 Benedick.   Would you buy her, that you inquire after her? Claudio.   Can the world buy such a jewel? Benedick.   Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a 165 rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song? Claudio.   In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. Benedick.   I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such 170 matter: there’s her cousin, an she were not possessed 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? Claudio.   I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the 175 contrary, if Hero would be my wife. Benedick.   Is’t come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again? Go to, i’ faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck 180 into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays. Look Don Pedro is returned to seek you. Re-enter DON PEDRO Don Pedro.   What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonato’s? 185 Benedick.   I would your grace would constrain me to tell. Don Pedro.   I charge thee on thy allegiance. Benedick.   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 190 in love. With who? now that is your grace’s part. Mark how short his answer is;-With Hero, Leonato’s short daughter. Claudio.   If this were so, so were it uttered. Benedick.   Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor 195 ’twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.’ Claudio.   If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise. Don Pedro.   Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy. 200 Claudio.   You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. Don Pedro.   By my troth, I speak my thought. Claudio.   And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Benedick.   And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. Claudio.   That I love her, I feel. 205 Don Pedro.   That she is worthy, I know. Benedick.   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. Don Pedro.   Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite 210 of beauty. Claudio.   And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will. Benedick.   That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble 215 thanks: but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, 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 220 I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor. Don Pedro.   I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. Benedick.   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 225 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. Don Pedro.   Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 230 Benedick.   If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. Don Pedro.   Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.’ 235 Benedick.   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 is good horse to hire,’ let them signify under my sign 240 ’Here you may see Benedick the married man.’ Claudio.   If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad. Don Pedro.   Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Benedick.   I look for an earthquake too, then. 245 Don Pedro.   Well, you temporize with the hours. In the meantime, 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. 250 Benedick.   I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I commit you- Claudio.   To the tuition of God: From my house, if I had it,- Don Pedro.   The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick. Benedick.   Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your 255 discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conscience: and so I leave you. Exit Claudio.   My liege, your highness now may do me good. Don 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. Claudio.   Hath Leonato any son, my lord? 265 Don Pedro.   No child but Hero; she’s his only heir. Dost thou affect her, Claudio? Claudio.   O, my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look’d upon her with a soldier’s eye, 270 That liked, 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, 275 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. Don 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, 280 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? Claudio.   How sweetly you do minister to love, That know love’s grief by his complexion! 285 But lest my liking might too sudden seem, I would have salved it with a longer treatise. Don Pedro.   What need the bridge much broader than the flood? The fairest grant is the necessity. Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lovest, 290 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 295 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 practise let us put it presently. 300 Exeunt ACT I, Scene ii A room in LEONATO’s house. Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, meeting Leonato.   How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your son? hath he provided this music? Antonio.   He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell 305 you strange news that you yet dreamt not of. Leonato.   Are they good? Antonio.   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 alley in mine 310 orchard, were thus much overheard 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 315 top and instantly break with you of it. Leonato.   Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? Antonio.   A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him yourself. Leonato.   No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear 320 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. Enter Attendants Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you 325 mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin, have a care this busy time. Exeunt ACT I, Scene iii The same. Enter DON JOHN and CONRADE Conrade.   What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out 330 of measure sad? Don John.   There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore the sadness is without limit. Conrade.   You should hear reason. Don John.   And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it? 335 Conrade.   If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance. Don John.   I wonder that thou, being, as thou sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide 340 what I am: 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 claw no man in his humour. 345 Conrade.   Yea, but you must not make the full show of this till you may do it without controlment. 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 true root but by the 350 fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest. Don John.   I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob 355 love from any: in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my 360 mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meantime let me be that I am and seek not to alter me. Conrade.   Can you make no use of your discontent? Don John.   I make all use of it, for I use it only. 365 Who comes here? Enter Borachio What news, Borachio? Borachio.   I came yonder from a great supper: the prince your brother is royally entertained by Leonato: and I 370 can give you intelligence of an intended marriage. Don John.   Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness? Borachio.   Marry, it is your brother’s right hand. 375 Don John.   Who? the most exquisite Claudio? Borachio.   Even he. Don John.   A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he? Borachio.   Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. 380 Don John.   A very forward March-chick! How came you to this? Borachio.   Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand in sad conference: I whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed upon that the 385 prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give her to Count Claudio. Don 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 390 bless myself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me? Conrade.   To the death, my lord. Don John.   Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the greater that I am subdued. Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we go prove what’s to be done? 395 Borachio.   We’ll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt ACT II, Scene i A hall in LEONATO’S house. Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others Leonato.   Was not Count John here at supper? Antonio.   I saw him not. 400 Beatrice.   How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero.   He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beatrice.   He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway between him and Benedick: the one is too 405 like an image and says nothing, and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling. Leonato.   Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face,— 410 Beatrice.   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 a’ could get her good-will. Leonato.   By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 415 Antonio.   In faith, she’s too curst. Beatrice.   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. Leonato.   So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns. 420 Beatrice.   Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen. Leonato.   You may light on a husband that hath no beard. 425 Beatrice.   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 430 man, I am not for him: therefore, I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell. Leonato.   Well, then, go you into hell? Beatrice.   No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet 435 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 shows me where the bachelors sit, and 440 there live we as merry as the day is long. Antonio.   To HERO Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father. Beatrice.   Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy and say ‘Father, as it please you.’ But yet for all 445 that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say ‘Father, as it please me.’ Leonato.   Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beatrice.   Not till God make men of some other metal than 450 earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a pierce 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. 455 Leonato.   Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Beatrice.   The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him there is measure in every thing 460 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 465 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. Leonato.   Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beatrice.   I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by daylight. 470 Leonato.   The revellers are entering, brother: make good room. All put on their masks Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA and others, masked Don Pedro.   Lady, will you walk about with your friend? 475 Hero.   So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away. Don Pedro.   With me in your company? Hero.   I may say so, when I please. Don Pedro.   And when please you to say so? 480 Hero.   When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case! Don Pedro.   My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove. Hero.   Why, then, your visor should be thatched. Don Pedro.   Speak low, if you speak love. 485 Drawing her aside Balthasar.   Well, I would you did like me. Margaret.   So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill-qualities. Balthasar.   Which is one? 490 Margaret.   I say my prayers aloud. Balthasar.   I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen. Margaret.   God match me with a good dancer! Balthasar.   Amen. Margaret.   And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is 495 done! Answer, clerk. Balthasar.   No more words: the clerk is answered. Ursula.   I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio. Antonio.   At a word, I am not. Ursula.   I know you by the waggling of your head. 500 Antonio.   To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Ursula.   You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he. Antonio.   At a word, I am not. 505 Ursula.   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. Beatrice.   Will you not tell me who told you so? 510 Benedick.   No, you shall pardon me. Beatrice.   Nor will you not tell me who you are? Benedick.   Not now. Beatrice.   That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales:’—well this was 515 Signior Benedick that said so. Benedick.   What’s he? Beatrice.   I am sure you know him well enough. Benedick.   Not I, believe me. Beatrice.   Did he never make you laugh? 520 Benedick.   I pray you, what is he? Beatrice.   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 villany; 525 for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me. Benedick.   When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say. Beatrice.   Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; 530 which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. Music We must follow the leaders. Benedick.   In every good thing. Beatrice.   Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning. Dance. Then exeunt all except DON JOHN, BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO Don 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. Borachio.   And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing. Don John.   Are not you Signior Benedick? 545 Claudio.   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. 550 Claudio.   How know you he loves her? Don John.   I heard him swear his affection. Borachio.   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 Claudio.   Thus answer I in the name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. ’Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: 560 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, 565 Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero! Re-enter BENEDICK Benedick.   Count Claudio? Claudio.   Yea, the same. Benedick.   Come, will you go with me? 570 Claudio.   Whither? Benedick.   Even to the next willow, about your own business, county. 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 575 it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. Claudio.   I wish him joy of her. Benedick.   Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus? 580 Claudio.   I pray you, leave me. Benedick.   Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post. Claudio.   If it will not be, I’ll leave you. Exit Benedick.   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 590 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 Don Pedro.   Now, signior, where’s the count? did you see him? 595 Benedick.   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 I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree, 600 either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. Don Pedro.   To be whipped! What’s his fault? Benedick.   The flat transgression of a schoolboy, who, being overjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it his 605 companion, and he steals it. Don Pedro.   Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer. Benedick.   Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have 610 worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest. Don Pedro.   I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Benedick.   If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, 615 you say honestly. Don Pedro.   The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you. Benedick.   O, she misused me past the endurance of a block! 620 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, that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest 625 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 630 the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad 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 635 her the infernal Ate 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, indeed, all disquiet, horror 640 and perturbation follows her. Don Pedro.   Look, here she comes. Enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO Benedick.   Will your grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now 645 to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furthest 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, 650 rather than hold three words’ conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? Don Pedro.   None, but to desire your good company. Benedick.   O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. 655 Exit Don Pedro.   Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. Beatrice.   Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: 660 marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. Don Pedro.   You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. Beatrice.   So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have brought 665 Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. Don Pedro.   Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad? Claudio.   Not sad, my lord. Don Pedro.   How then? sick? Claudio.   Neither, my lord. 670 Beatrice.   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 Pedro.   I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is 675 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! Leonato.   Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my 680 fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and an grace say Amen to it. Beatrice.   Speak, count, ’tis your cue. Claudio.   Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as 685 you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange. Beatrice.   Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak neither. Don Pedro.   In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 690 Beatrice.   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. Claudio.   And so she doth, cousin. Beatrice.   Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the 695 world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband! Don Pedro.   Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beatrice.   I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your grace ne’er a brother like you? Your 700 father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. Don Pedro.   Will you have me, lady? Beatrice.   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 705 was born to speak all mirth and no matter. Don Pedro.   Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beatrice.   No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there 710 was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy! Leonato.   Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beatrice.   I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace’s pardon. Exit Don Pedro.   By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leonato.   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, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and waked 720 herself with laughing. Don Pedro.   She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leonato.   O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit. Don Pedro.   She were an excellent wife for Benedict. Leonato.   O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, 725 they would talk themselves mad. Don Pedro.   County Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claudio.   To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love have all his rites. Leonato.   Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just 730 seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all things answer my mind. Don 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 735 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 740 shall give you direction. Leonato.   My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings. Claudio.   And I, my lord. Don Pedro.   And you too, gentle Hero? 745 Hero.   I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. Don Pedro.   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 750 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, 755 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 ACT II, Scene ii The same. Enter DON JOHN and BORACHIO Don John.   It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Borachio.   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, 765 and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage? Borachio.   Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me. Don John.   Show me briefly how. 770 Borachio.   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. Borachio.   I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, 775 appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber window. Don John.   What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage? Borachio.   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 780 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? Borachio.   Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leonato. Look you for any 785 other issue? Don John.   Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. Borachio.   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; intend a kind of zeal both to the 790 prince and Claudio, as,—in love of your brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: 795 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 meantime I 800 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 805 it in practise. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Borachio.   Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. Don John.   I will presently go learn their day of marriage. 810 Exeunt ACT II, Scene iii LEONATO’S orchard. Enter BENEDICK Benedick.   Boy! Enter Boy Boy.   Signior? 815 Benedick.   In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hither to me in the orchard. Boy.   I am here already, sir. Benedick.   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 behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man 825 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 tabour and the pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile a-foot to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, 830 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 orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted and see with 835 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 840 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 845 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 God. Ha! the prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour. Withdraws Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO Don Pedro.   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 Pedro.   See you where Benedick hath hid himself? 855 Claudio.   O, very well, my lord: the music ended, We’ll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. Enter BALTHASAR with Music Don Pedro.   Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again. Balthasar.   O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 860 To slander music any more than once. Don 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. Balthasar.   Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; 865 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes, Yet will he swear he loves. Don Pedro.   Now, pray thee, come; Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 870 Do it in notes. Balthasar.   Note this before my notes; There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting. Don Pedro.   Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks; Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. 875 Air Benedick.   Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! 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. 880 The Song Balthasar.   Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never: 885 Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 890 Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leafy: Then sigh not so, &c. Don Pedro.   By my troth, a good song. 895 Balthasar.   And an ill singer, my lord. Don Pedro.   Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. Benedick.   An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the 900 night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. Don Pedro.   Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window. 905 Balthasar.   The best I can, my lord. Don Pedro.   Do so: farewell. Exit BALTHASAR Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice was in love with 910 Signior Benedick? Claudio.   O, ay: stalk on. stalk on; the fowl sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leonato.   No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in 915 all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor. Benedick.   Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner? Leonato.   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. 920 Don Pedro.   May be she doth but counterfeit. Claudio.   Faith, like enough. Leonato.   O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it. 925 Don Pedro.   Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claudio.   Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. Leonato.   What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you heard my daughter tell you how. Claudio.   She did, indeed. 930 Don Pedro.   How, how, pray you? You amaze me: I would have I thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. Leonato.   I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick. 935 Benedick.   I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence. Claudio.   He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up. Don Pedro.   Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? 940 Leonato.   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 oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I love him?’ Leonato.   This says she now when she is beginning to write to 945 him; for she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us all. Claudio.   Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. 950 Leonato.   O, when she had writ it and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? Claudio.   That. Leonato.   O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest 955 to write to one that she knew would flout her; ‘I measure him,’ says she, ‘by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.’ Claudio.   Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, 960 beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!’ Leonato.   She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her that my daughter is sometime afeared she will do a desperate outrage 965 to herself: it is very true. Don Pedro.   It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it. Claudio.   To what end? He would make but a sport of it and torment the poor lady worse. 970 Don 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. Claudio.   And she is exceeding wise. Don Pedro.   In every thing but in loving Benedick. 975 Leonato.   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. Don Pedro.   I would she had bestowed this dotage on me: I would 980 have daffed all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what a’ will say. Leonato.   Were it good, think you? Claudio.   Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she 985 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 accustomed crossness. Don Pedro.   She doth well: if she should make tender of her 990 love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claudio.   He is a very proper man. Don Pedro.   He hath indeed a good outward happiness. Claudio.   Before God! and, in my mind, very wise. 995 Don Pedro.   He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit. Claudio.   And I take him to be valiant. Don 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 1000 them with a most Christian-like fear. Leonato.   If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. Don Pedro.   And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, 1005 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? Claudio.   Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel. 1010 Leonato.   Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first. Don Pedro.   Well, we will hear further 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. 1015 Leonato.   My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. Claudio.   If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. Don Pedro.   Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. The 1020 sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another’s dotage, and no such matter: that’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. Exeunt DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO Benedick.   Coming forward 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. I hear how I am censured: 1030 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 1035 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 1040 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. 1045 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 day! 1050 she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter BEATRICE Beatrice.   Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Benedick.   Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 1055 Beatrice.   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. Benedick.   You take pleasure then in the message? Beatrice.   Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s 1060 point and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well. Exit Benedick.   Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner;’ there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took 1065 no more pains for those thanks than you took 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 of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. 1070 Exit ACT III, Scene i LEONATO’S garden. Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA Hero.   Good Margaret, run thee to the parlor; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the prince and Claudio: 1075 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 honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun, 1080 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 purpose. This is thy office; Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. 1085 Margaret.   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. 1090 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, 1095 That only wounds by hearsay. Enter BEATRICE, behind Now begin; For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 1100 Ursula.   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. 1105 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. Approaching the bower No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; 1110 I know her spirits are as coy and wild As haggerds of the rock. Ursula.   But are you sure That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Hero.   So says the prince and my new-trothed lord. 1115 Ursula.   And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? Hero.   They did entreat me to acquaint her of it; But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of it. 1120 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: 1125 But Nature never framed a woman’s heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice; Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on, and her wit Values itself so highly that to her 1130 All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. Ursula.   Sure, I think so; And therefore certainly it were not good 1135 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 featured, But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced, She would swear the gentleman should be her sister; 1140 If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique, 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. 1145 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.   No, not to be so odd and from all fashions 1150 As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She would 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, 1155 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 1160 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.   O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 1165 She cannot be so much without true judgment— Having so swift and excellent a wit As she is prized to have—as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. Hero.   He is the only man of Italy. 1170 Always excepted my dear Claudio. Ursula.   I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick, For shape, for bearing, argument and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy. 1175 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, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in: I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel 1180 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Ursula.   She’s limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. Hero.   If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. Exeunt HERO and URSULA Beatrice.   Coming forward 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. 1190 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 1195 Believe it better than reportingly. Exit ACT III, Scene ii A room in LEONATO’S house. Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and LEONATO Don Pedro.   I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon. 1200 Claudio.   I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me. Don Pedro.   Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold 1205 with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bow-string and the little hangman dare not shoot at him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell and his 1210 tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. Benedick.   Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leonato.   So say I. methinks you are sadder. Claudio.   I hope he be in love. 1215 Don Pedro.   Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love: if he be sad, he wants money. Benedick.   I have the toothache. Don Pedro.   Draw it. 1220 Benedick.   Hang it! Claudio.   You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. Don Pedro.   What! sigh for the toothache? Leonato.   Where is but a humour or a worm. Benedick.   Well, every one can master a grief but he that has 1225 it. Claudio.   Yet say I, he is in love. Don Pedro.   There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman today, a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the 1230 shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist downward, all slops, 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 appear he is. 1235 Claudio.   If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: a’ brushes his hat o’ mornings; what should that bode? Don Pedro.   Hath any man seen him at the barber’s? Claudio.   No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him, 1240 and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leonato.   Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. Don Pedro.   Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that? 1245 Claudio.   That’s as much as to say, the sweet youth’s in love. Don Pedro.   The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Claudio.   And when was he wont to wash his face? Don Pedro.   Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. 1250 Claudio.   Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a lute-string and now governed by stops. Don Pedro.   Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude, conclude he is in love. Claudio.   Nay, but I know who loves him. 1255 Don Pedro.   That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not. Claudio.   Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of all, dies for him. Don Pedro.   She shall be buried with her face upwards. Benedick.   Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old 1260 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 Don Pedro.   For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. 1265 Claudio.   ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another when they meet. Enter DON JOHN Don John.   My lord and brother, God save you! 1270 Don Pedro.   Good den, brother. Don John.   If your leisure served, I would speak with you. Don Pedro.   In private? Don John.   If it please you: yet Count Claudio may hear; for what I would speak of concerns him. 1275 Don Pedro.   What’s the matter? Don John.   To CLAUDIO Means your lordship to be married to-morrow? Don Pedro.   You know he does. Don John.   I know not that, when he knows what I know. 1280 Claudio.   If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it. Don John.   You may think I love you not: let that 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 1285 your ensuing marriage;—surely suit ill spent and labour ill bestowed. Don Pedro.   Why, what’s the matter? Don John.   I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances shortened, for she has been too long a talking of, 1290 the lady is disloyal. Claudio.   Who, Hero? Don Pedro.   Even she; Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero: Claudio.   Disloyal? Don John.   The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I 1295 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 to-night, you shall see her chamber-window entered, even the night before her wedding-day: if you love her then, 1300 to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change your mind. Claudio.   May this be so? Don Pedro.   I will not think it. Don John.   If you dare not trust that you see, confess not 1305 that you know: if you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claudio.   If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow in the congregation, where I should 1310 wed, there will I shame her. Don Pedro.   And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. Don John.   I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and 1315 let the issue show itself. Don Pedro.   O day untowardly turned! Claudio.   O mischief strangely thwarting! Don John.   O plague right well prevented! so will you say when you have seen the sequel. 1320 Exeunt ACT III, Scene iii A street. Enter DOGBERRY and VERGES with the Watch Dogberry.   Are you good men and true? Verges.   Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. 1325 Dogberry.   Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince’s watch. Verges.   Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dogberry.   First, who think you the most desertless man to be 1330 constable? First Watchman.   Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Seacole; for they can write and read. Dogberry.   Come hither, neighbour Seacole. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well-favoured man is 1335 the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. Second Watchman.   Both which, master constable,— Dogberry.   You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, 1340 let that appear when there is 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 lantern. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are 1345 to bid any man stand, in the prince’s name. Second Watchman.   How if a’ will not stand? Dogberry.   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. 1350 Verges.   If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince’s subjects. Dogberry.   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 to 1355 talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. Watchman.   We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. Dogberry.   Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should 1360 offend: only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. Watchman.   How if they will not? Dogberry.   Why, then, let them alone till they are sober: if 1365 they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them for. Watchman.   Well, sir. Dogberry.   If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such 1370 kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why the more is for your honesty. Watchman.   If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Dogberry.   Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they 1375 that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company. Verges.   You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogberry.   Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more 1380 a man who hath any honesty in him. Verges.   If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. Watchman.   How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us? Dogberry.   Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake 1385 her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verges.   ’Tis very true. Dogberry.   This is the end of the charge:—you, constable, are to present the prince’s own person: if you meet the 1390 prince in the night, you may stay him. Verges.   Nay, by’r our lady, that I think a’ cannot. Dogberry.   Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought 1395 to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verges.   By’r lady, I think it be so. Dogberry.   Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your 1400 fellows’ counsels and your own; and good night. Come, neighbour. Watchman.   Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. Dogberry.   One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you watch 1405 about Signior Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night. Adieu: be vigitant, I beseech you. Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES Enter BORACHIO and CONRADE Borachio.   What Conrade! Watchman.   Aside Peace! stir not. Borachio.   Conrade, I say! Conrade.   Here, man; I am at thy elbow. Borachio.   Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a 1415 scab follow. Conrade.   I will owe thee an answer for that: and now forward with thy tale. Borachio.   Stand thee close, then, under this pent-house, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, 1420 utter all to thee. Watchman.   Aside Some treason, masters: yet stand close. Borachio.   Therefore know I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Conrade.   Is it possible that any villany should be so dear? Borachio.   Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any 1425 villany should be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will. Conrade.   I wonder at it. Borachio.   That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that 1430 the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. Conrade.   Yes, it is apparel. Borachio.   I mean, the fashion. Conrade.   Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 1435 Borachio.   Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is? Watchman.   Aside I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief this seven year; a’ goes up and down like a 1440 gentleman: I remember his name. Borachio.   Didst thou not hear somebody? Conrade.   No; ’twas the vane on the house. Borachio.   Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily a’ turns about all the hot 1445 bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reeky painting, sometime like god Bel’s priests in the old church-window, sometime like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, 1450 where his codpiece seems as massy as his club? Conrade.   All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion? 1455 Borachio.   Not so, neither: but know that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at her mistress’ chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first 1460 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. Conrade.   And thought they Margaret was Hero? Borachio.   Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but the 1465 devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore 1470 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. First Watchman.   We charge you, in the prince’s name, stand! 1475 Second Watchman.   Call up the right master constable. We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. First Watchman.   And one Deformed is one of them: I know him; a’ wears a lock. 1480 Conrade.   Masters, masters,— Second Watchman.   You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Conrade.   Masters,— First Watchman.   Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us. Borachio.   We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken 1485 up of these men’s bills. Conrade.   A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you. Exeunt ACT III, Scene iv HERO’s apartment. Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA Hero.   Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire 1490 her to rise. Ursula.   I will, lady. Hero.   And bid her come hither. Ursula.   Well. Exit Margaret.   Troth, I think your other rabato were better. Hero.   No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this. Margaret.   By my troth, ’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 1500 none but this. Margaret.   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 Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so. 1505 Hero.   O, that exceeds, they say. Margaret.   By my troth, ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel: 1510 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. Margaret.   ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. 1515 Hero.   Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? Margaret.   Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me say, ‘saving your reverence, a husband:’ and bad 1520 thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody: is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think, and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes. 1525 Enter BEATRICE Hero.   Good morrow, coz. Beatrice.   Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero.   Why how now? do you speak in the sick tune? Beatrice.   I am out of all other tune, methinks. 1530 Margaret.   Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love;’ that goes without a burden: do you sing it, and I’ll dance it. Beatrice.   Ye light o’ love, with your heels! then, if your husband have stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barns. 1535 Margaret.   O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. Beatrice.   ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho! Margaret.   For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? Beatrice.   For the letter that begins them all, H. 1540 Margaret.   Well, and you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the star. Beatrice.   What means the fool, trow? Margaret.   Nothing I; but God send every one their heart’s desire! Hero.   These gloves the count sent me; they are an 1545 excellent perfume. Beatrice.   I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell. Margaret.   A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching of cold. Beatrice.   O, God help me! God help me! how long have you professed apprehension? 1550 Margaret.   Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely? Beatrice.   It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. Margaret.   Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm. 1555 Hero.   There thou prickest her with a thistle. Beatrice.   Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus. Margaret.   Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance 1560 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 of thinking, that you are in love or that you will be in love or that you 1565 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 despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted I know not, but methinks you look with 1570 your eyes as other women do. Beatrice.   What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Margaret.   Not a false gallop. Re-enter URSULA Ursula.   Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior 1575 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 ACT III, Scene v Another room in LEONATO’S house. Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES Leonato.   What would you with me, honest neighbour? Dogberry.   Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you that decerns you nearly. Leonato.   Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me. Dogberry.   Marry, this it is, sir. 1585 Verges.   Yes, in truth it is, sir. Leonato.   What is it, my good friends? Dogberry.   Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire they were; but, 1590 in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. Verges.   Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I. Dogberry.   Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges. Leonato.   Neighbours, you are tedious. 1595 Dogberry.   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 it in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leonato.   All thy tediousness on me, ah? 1600 Dogberry.   Yea, an ’twere a thousand pound 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. Verges.   And so am I. 1605 Leonato.   I would fain know what you have to say. Verges.   Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship’s presence, ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Dogberry.   A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they 1610 say, when the age is in, the wit is out: God help us! it is a world to see. Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well, God’s a good man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever 1615 broke bread; but God is to be worshipped; all men are not alike; alas, good neighbour! Leonato.   Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dogberry.   Gifts that God gives. Leonato.   I must leave you. 1620 Dogberry.   One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship. Leonato.   Take their examination yourself and bring it me: I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. 1625 Dogberry.   It shall be suffigance. Leonato.   Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Enter a Messenger Messenger.   My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. 1630 Leonato.   I’ll wait upon them: I am ready. Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger Dogberry.   Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these men. 1635 Verges.   And we must do it wisely. Dogberry.   We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s that shall drive some of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication and meet me at the gaol. 1640 Exeunt ACT IV, Scene i A church. Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, FRIAR FRANCIS, pCLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, and Attendants Leonato.   Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 1645 particular duties afterwards. Friar Francis.   You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady. Claudio.   No. Leonato.   To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her. Friar Francis.   Lady, you come hither to be married to this count. 1650 Hero.   I do. Friar Francis.   If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, to utter it. Claudio.   Know you any, Hero? 1655 Hero.   None, my lord. Friar Francis.   Know you any, count? Leonato.   I dare make his answer, none. Claudio.   O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do! 1660 Benedick.   How now! interjections? Why, then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he! Claudio.   Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter? 1665 Leonato.   As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claudio.   And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? Don Pedro.   Nothing, unless you render her again. Claudio.   Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. 1670 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 show of truth 1675 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 shows? But she is none: 1680 She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leonato.   What do you mean, my lord? Claudio.   Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 1685 Leonato.   Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity,— Claudio.   I know what you would say: if I have known her, You will say she did embrace me as a husband, 1690 And so extenuate the ’forehand sin: No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large; But, as a brother to his sister, show’d Bashful sincerity and comely love. 1695 Hero.   And seem’d I ever otherwise to you? Claudio.   Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it: You seem to me as Dian in her orb, As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; But you are more intemperate in your blood 1700 Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals That rage in savage sensuality. Hero.   Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? Leonato.   Sweet prince, why speak not you? Don Pedro.   What should I speak? 1705 I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leonato.   Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? Don John.   Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Benedick.   This looks not like a nuptial. 1710 Hero.   True! O God! Claudio.   Leonato, stand I here? Is this the prince? is this the prince’s brother? Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own? Leonato.   All this is so: but what of this, my lord? 1715 Claudio.   Let me but move one question to your daughter; And, by that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her, bid her answer truly. Leonato.   I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero.   O, God defend me! how am I beset! 1720 What kind of catechising call you this? Claudio.   To make you answer truly to your name. Hero.   Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach? Claudio.   Marry, that can Hero; 1725 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. Hero.   I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord. 1730 Don Pedro.   Why, then are you 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 1735 Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, Confess’d the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret. Don John.   Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord, Not to be spoke of; 1740 There is not chastity enough in language Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. Claudio.   O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed 1745 About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart! But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety and impious purity! For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 1750 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Leonato.   Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me? HERO swoons Beatrice.   Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down? 1755 Don John.   Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. Exeunt DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, and CLAUDIO Benedick.   How doth the lady? Beatrice.   Dead, I think. Help, uncle! 1760 Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar! Leonato.   O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand. Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wish’d for. Beatrice.   How now, cousin Hero! 1765 Friar Francis.   Have comfort, lady. Leonato.   Dost thou look up? Friar Francis.   Yea, wherefore should she not? Leonato.   Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny 1770 The story that is printed in her blood? Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes: For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 1775 Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one? Chid I for that at frugal nature’s frame? 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 1780 Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates, Who smirch’d thus and mired with infamy, I might have said ‘No part of it is mine; This shame derives itself from unknown loins’? But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised 1785 And mine that I was proud on, mine so much 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 1790 And salt too little which may season give To her foul-tainted flesh! Benedick.   Sir, sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say. 1795 Beatrice.   O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Benedick.   Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beatrice.   No, truly not; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leonato.   Confirm’d, confirm’d! O, that is stronger made 1800 Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron! Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. Friar Francis.   Hear me a little; for I have only been 1805 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 1810 In angel whiteness beat 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 observations, 1815 Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenor of my book; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error. 1820 Leonato.   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 1825 That which appears in proper nakedness? Friar Francis.   Lady, what man is he you are accused of? 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, 1830 Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father, Prove you that any man with me conversed At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight Maintain’d the change of words with any creature, Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death! 1835 Friar Francis.   There is some strange misprision in the princes. Benedick.   Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practise of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 1840 Leonato.   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 dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, 1845 Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awaked in such a kind, Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means and choice of friends, 1850 To quit me of them throughly. Friar Francis.   Pause awhile, And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead: Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 1855 And publish it that she is dead indeed; Maintain a mourning ostentation And on your family’s old monument Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. 1860 Leonato.   What shall become of this? what will this do? Friar Francis.   Marry, this well carried 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. 1865 She dying, as it must so be maintain’d, Upon the instant that she was accused, Shall be lamented, pitied and excused Of every hearer: for it so falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth 1870 Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio: When he shall hear she died upon his words, 1875 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit, More moving-delicate and full of life, 1880 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she lived 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. 1885 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 1890 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. 1895 Benedick.   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 1900 Should with your body. Leonato.   Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me. Friar Francis.   ’Tis well consented: presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. 1905 Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure. Exeunt all but BENEDICK and BEATRICE Benedick.   Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beatrice.   Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 1910 Benedick.   I will not desire that. Beatrice.   You have no reason; I do it freely. Benedick.   Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. Beatrice.   Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her! Benedick.   Is there any way to show such friendship? 1915 Beatrice.   A very even way, but no such friend. Benedick.   May a man do it? Beatrice.   It is a man’s office, but not yours. Benedick.   I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange? 1920 Beatrice.   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. Benedick.   By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 1925 Beatrice.   Do not swear, and eat it. Benedick.   I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you. Beatrice.   Will you not eat your word? Benedick.   With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest 1930 I love thee. Beatrice.   Why, then, God forgive me! Benedick.   What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beatrice.   You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you. 1935 Benedick.   And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice.   I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. Benedick.   Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beatrice.   Kill Claudio. 1940 Benedick.   Ha! not for the wide world. Beatrice.   You kill me to deny it. Farewell. Benedick.   Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beatrice.   I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. 1945 Benedick.   Beatrice,— Beatrice.   In faith, I will go. Benedick.   We’ll be friends first. Beatrice.   You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy. Benedick.   Is Claudio thine enemy? 1950 Beatrice.   Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, 1955 —O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Benedick.   Hear me, Beatrice,— Beatrice.   Talk with a man out at a window! A proper saying! Benedick.   Nay, but, Beatrice,— 1960 Beatrice.   Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Benedick.   Beat— Beatrice.   Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I 1965 had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a 1970 man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. Benedick.   Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee. Beatrice.   Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. Benedick.   Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero? Beatrice.   Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul. 1975 Benedick.   Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I 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. 1980 Exeunt ACT IV, Scene ii A prison. Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns; and pthe Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO Dogberry.   Is our whole dissembly appeared? Verges.   O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton. 1985 Sexton.   Which be the malefactors? Dogberry.   Marry, that am I and my partner. Verges.   Nay, that’s certain; we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton.   But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before master constable. 1990 Dogberry.   Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend? Borachio.   Borachio. Dogberry.   Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sirrah? Conrade.   I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. 1995 Dogberry.   Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God? Conrade.   with Borachio Yea, sir, we hope. Dogberry.   Write down, that they hope they serve God: and write God first; for God defend but God should go 2000 before such villains! Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves? Conrade.   Marry, sir, we say we are none. 2005 Dogberry.   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. Borachio.   Sir, I say to you we are none. 2010 Dogberry.   Well, stand aside. ’Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none? Sexton.   Master constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogberry.   Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch 2015 come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince’s name, accuse these men. First Watchman.   This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince’s brother, was a villain. Dogberry.   Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat 2020 perjury, to call a prince’s brother villain. Borachio.   Master constable,— Dogberry.   Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton.   What heard you him say else? 2025 Second Watchman.   Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully. Dogberry.   Flat burglary as ever was committed. Verges.   Yea, by mass, that it is. Sexton.   What else, fellow? 2030 First Watchman.   And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly. and not marry her. Dogberry.   O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton.   What else? 2035 Watchman.   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 accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly died. 2040 Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination. Exit Dogberry.   Come, let them be opinioned. 2045 Verges.   Let them be in the hands— Conrade.   Off, coxcomb! Dogberry.   God’s my life, where’s the sexton? let him write down the prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet! 2050 Conrade.   Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogberry.   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 2055 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, a householder, and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in 2060 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! 2065 Exeunt ACT V, Scene i Before LEONATO’S house. Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO Antonio.   If you go on thus, you will kill yourself: And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief Against yourself. 2070 Leonato.   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. 2075 Bring me a father that so loved 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, 2080 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 beard, Bid sorrow wag, cry ’hem!’ when he should groan, Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk 2085 With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience. But there is no such man: for, brother, men Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, 2090 Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air and agony with words: No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience 2095 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 advertisement. 2100 Antonio.   Therein do men from children nothing differ. Leonato.   I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood; For there was never yet philosopher That could endure the toothache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods 2105 And made a push at chance and sufferance. Antonio.   Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; Make those that do offend you suffer too. Leonato.   There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so. My soul doth tell me Hero is belied; 2110 And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince And all of them that thus dishonour her. Antonio.   Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily. Enter DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO Don Pedro.   Good den, good den. 2115 Claudio.   Good day to both of you. Leonato.   Hear you. my lords,— Don Pedro.   We have some haste, Leonato. Leonato.   Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord: Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. 2120 Don Pedro.   Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. Antonio.   If he could right himself with quarreling, Some of us would lie low. Claudio.   Who wrongs him? Leonato.   Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:— 2125 Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; I fear thee not. Claudio.   Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 2130 Leonato.   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, 2135 Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me That I am forced to lay my reverence by And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man. I say thou hast belied mine innocent child; 2140 Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies buried with her ancestors; O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers, framed by thy villany! Claudio.   My villany? 2145 Leonato.   Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. Don Pedro.   You say not right, old man. Leonato.   My lord, my lord, I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare, Despite his nice fence and his active practise, 2150 His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. Claudio.   Away! I will not have to do with you. Leonato.   Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child: If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Antonio.   He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: 2155 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, come, follow me: Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 2160 Leonato.   Brother,— Antonio.   Content yourself. God knows I loved 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: 2165 Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops! Leonato.   Brother Antony,— Antonio.   Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,— Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys, 2170 That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, Go anticly, show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst; And this is all. 2175 Leonato.   But, brother Antony,— Antonio.   Come, ’tis no matter: Do not you meddle; let me deal in this. Don Pedro.   Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death: 2180 But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing But what was true and very full of proof. Leonato.   My lord, my lord,— Don Pedro.   I will not hear you. Leonato.   No? Come, brother; away! I will be heard. 2185 Antonio.   And shall, or some of us will smart for it. Exeunt LEONATO and ANTONIO Don Pedro.   See, see; here comes the man we went to seek. Enter BENEDICK Claudio.   Now, signior, what news? 2190 Benedick.   Good day, my lord. Don Pedro.   Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part almost a fray. Claudio.   We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. 2195 Don Pedro.   Leonato and his brother. What thinkest thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them. Benedick.   In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both. Claudio.   We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are 2200 high-proof melancholy and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit? Benedick.   It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it? Don Pedro.   Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claudio.   Never any did so, though very many have been beside 2205 their wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. Don Pedro.   As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry? Claudio.   What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat, 2210 thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Benedick.   Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you charge it against me. I pray you choose another subject. Claudio.   Nay, then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross. 2215 Don Pedro.   By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry indeed. Claudio.   If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. Benedick.   Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claudio.   God bless me from a challenge! 2220 Benedick.   Aside to CLAUDIO 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 killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me 2225 hear from you. Claudio.   Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. Don Pedro.   What, a feast, a feast? Claudio.   I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most 2230 curiously, say my knife’s naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too? Benedick.   Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. Don Pedro.   I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: ‘True,’ 2235 said she, ‘a fine little one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit:’ ‘Right,’ says she, ‘a great gross one.’ ’Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit:’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman is wise:’ ‘Certain,’ said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’ 2240 ’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 double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour together, transshape thy particular 2245 virtues: yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. Claudio.   For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not. Don Pedro.   Yea, that she did: but yet, for all that, an if she 2250 did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man’s daughter told us all. Claudio.   All, all; and, moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden. Don Pedro.   But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on 2255 the sensible Benedick’s head? Claudio.   Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick the married man’? Benedick.   Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests 2260 as braggarts do their blades, which God 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 killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord 2265 Lackbeard there, he and I shall meet: and, till then, peace be with him. Exit Don Pedro.   He is in earnest. Claudio.   In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant you, for 2270 the love of Beatrice. Don Pedro.   And hath challenged thee. Claudio.   Most sincerely. Don Pedro.   What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit! 2275 Claudio.   He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. Don Pedro.   But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was fled? Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and the Watch, with CONRADE and BORACHIO Dogberry.   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 looked to. Don Pedro.   How now? two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio one! 2285 Claudio.   Hearken after their offence, my lord. Don Pedro.   Officers, what offence have these men done? Dogberry.   Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have 2290 belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. Don 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 2295 to their charge. Claudio.   Rightly reasoned, and in his own division: and, by my troth, there’s one meaning well suited. Don Pedro.   Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is 2300 too cunning to be understood: what’s your offence? Borachio.   Sweet prince, let me go no farther 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 2305 to light: who in the night overheard me confessing to this man how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the Lady Hero, how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court Margaret in Hero’s garments, how you disgraced her, when you should 2310 marry her: my villany 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. 2315 Don Pedro.   Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? Claudio.   I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it. Don Pedro.   But did my brother set thee on to this? Borachio.   Yea, and paid me richly for the practise of it. Don Pedro.   He is composed and framed of treachery: 2320 And fled he is upon this villany. Claudio.   Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I loved it first. Dogberry.   Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter: 2325 and, masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. Verges.   Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the Sexton too. Re-enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, with the Sexton Leonato.   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? Borachio.   If you would know your wronger, look on me. Leonato.   Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d 2335 Mine innocent child? Borachio.   Yea, even I alone. Leonato.   No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself: Here stand a pair of honourable men; A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 2340 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. Claudio.   I know not how to pray your patience; Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; 2345 Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not But in mistaking. Don Pedro.   By my soul, nor I: And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 2350 I would bend under any heavy weight That he’ll enjoin me to. Leonato.   I cannot bid you bid my daughter live; That were impossible: but, I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina here 2355 How innocent she died; and if your love Can labour ought in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night: To-morrow morning come you to my house, 2360 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 us: Give her the right you should have given her cousin, 2365 And so dies my revenge. Claudio.   O noble sir, Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me! I do embrace your offer; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio. 2370 Leonato.   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, Hired to it by your brother. 2375 Borachio.   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. Dogberry.   Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white and 2380 black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say be wears a key in his ear and a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s 2385 name, the which he hath used 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. Leonato.   I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogberry.   Your worship speaks like a most thankful and 2390 reverend youth; and I praise God for you. Leonato.   There’s for thy pains. Dogberry.   God save the foundation! Leonato.   Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. Dogberry.   I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I 2395 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 wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour. 2400 Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES Leonato.   Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Antonio.   Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow. Don Pedro.   We will not fail. Claudio.   To-night I’ll mourn with Hero. 2405 Leonato.   To the Watch Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. Exeunt, severally ACT V, Scene ii LEONATO’S garden. Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting Benedick.   Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Margaret.   Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty? Benedick.   In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou 2415 deservest it. Margaret.   To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below stairs? Benedick.   Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches. Margaret.   And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, 2420 but hurt not. Benedick.   A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the bucklers. Margaret.   Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own. 2425 Benedick.   If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Margaret.   Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs. Benedick.   And therefore will come. Exit MARGARET Sings The god of love, That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve,— 2435 I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole bookful of these quondam carpet-mangers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned 2440 over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried: I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby,’ an innocent rhyme; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn,’ a hard rhyme; for, ’school,’ ‘fool,’ a babbling rhyme; very ominous 2445 endings: no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. Enter BEATRICE Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? Beatrice.   Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 2450 Benedick.   O, stay but till then! Beatrice.   ’Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. Benedick.   Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. 2455 Beatrice.   Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed. Benedick.   Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee 2460 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? Beatrice.   For them all together; which maintained so politic 2465 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? Benedick.   Suffer love! a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will. 2470 Beatrice.   In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Benedick.   Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beatrice.   It appears not in this confession: there’s not one 2475 wise man among twenty that will praise himself. Benedick.   An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the lime 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 2480 widow weeps. Beatrice.   And how long is that, think you? Benedick.   Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no 2485 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 praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin? Beatrice.   Very ill. 2490 Benedick.   And how do you? Beatrice.   Very ill too. Benedick.   Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Enter URSULA Ursula.   Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fed and gone. Will you come presently? 2500 Beatrice.   Will you go hear this news, signior? Benedick.   I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s. Exeunt ACT V, Scene iii A church. Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and three or four with tapers Claudio.   Is this the monument of Leonato? Lord.   It is, my lord. Claudio.   Reading out of a scroll Done to death by slanderous tongues 2510 Was the Hero that here lies: Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never dies. So the life that died with shame Lives in death with glorious fame. 2515 Hang thou there upon the tomb, Praising her when I am dumb. Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. SONG. Pardon, goddess of the night, 2520 Those that slew thy virgin knight; For the which, with songs of woe, Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan; Help us to sigh and groan, 2525 Heavily, heavily: Graves, yawn and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavily, heavily. Claudio.   Now, unto thy bones good night! 2530 Yearly will I do this rite. Don Pedro.   Good morrow, masters; put your torches out: The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey. 2535 Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. Claudio.   Good morrow, masters: each his several way. Don Pedro.   Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; And then to Leonato’s we will go. Claudio.   And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s 2540 Than this for whom we render’d up this woe. Exeunt ACT V, Scene iv A room in LEONATO’S house. Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE, MARGARET, URSULA, FRIAR FRANCIS, and HERO Friar Francis.   Did I not tell you she was innocent? 2545 Leonato.   So are the prince and Claudio, who accused 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. 2550 Antonio.   Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Benedick.   And so am I, being else by faith enforced To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leonato.   Well, daughter, and you gentle-women all, Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, 2555 And when I send for you, come hither mask’d. Exeunt Ladies The prince and Claudio promised by this hour To visit me. You know your office, brother: You must be father to your brother’s daughter 2560 And give her to young Claudio. Antonio.   Which I will do with confirm’d countenance. Benedick.   Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar Francis.   To do what, signior? Benedick.   To bind me, or undo me; one of them. 2565 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. Leonato.   That eye my daughter lent her: ’tis most true. Benedick.   And I do with an eye of love requite her. Leonato.   The sight whereof I think you had from me, 2570 From Claudio and the prince: but what’s your will? Benedick.   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 state of honourable marriage: 2575 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Leonato.   My heart is with your liking. Friar Francis.   And my help. Here comes the prince and Claudio. Enter DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO, and two or three others Don Pedro.   Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leonato.   Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio: We here attend you. Are you yet determined To-day to marry with my brother’s daughter? Claudio.   I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 2585 Leonato.   Call her forth, brother; here’s the friar ready. Exit ANTONIO Don Pedro.   Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness? 2590 Claudio.   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. 2595 Benedick.   Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow, And got a calf in that same noble feat Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. Claudio.   For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings. 2600 Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked Which is the lady I must seize upon? Antonio.   This same is she, and I do give you her. Claudio.   Why, then she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face. Leonato.   No, that you shall not, till you take her hand 2605 Before this friar and swear to marry her. Claudio.   Give me your hand: before this holy friar, I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero.   And when I lived, I was your other wife: Unmasking And when you loved, you were my other husband. Claudio.   Another Hero! Hero.   Nothing certainer: One Hero died defiled, but I do live, And surely as I live, I am a maid. 2615 Don Pedro.   The former Hero! Hero that is dead! Leonato.   She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived. Friar Francis.   All this amazement can I qualify: When after that the holy rites are ended, I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death: 2620 Meantime let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently. Benedick.   Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? Beatrice.   Unmasking I answer to that name. What is your will? Benedick.   Do not you love me? 2625 Beatrice.   Why, no; no more than reason. Benedick.   Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio Have been deceived; they swore you did. Beatrice.   Do not you love me? Benedick.   Troth, no; no more than reason. 2630 Beatrice.   Why, then my cousin Margaret and Ursula Are much deceived; for they did swear you did. Benedick.   They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beatrice.   They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Benedick.   ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me? 2635 Beatrice.   No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leonato.   Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claudio.   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, 2640 Fashion’d to Beatrice. Hero.   And here’s another Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. Benedick.   A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. 2645 Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. Beatrice.   I 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. 2650 Benedick.   Peace! I will stop your mouth. Kissing her Don Pedro.   How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? Benedick.   I’ll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost 2655 thou think I care for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a’ 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 2660 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 unbruised and love my cousin. 2665 Claudio.   I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled 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 exceedingly narrowly to thee. 2670 Benedick.   Come, come, we are friends: let’s have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels. Leonato.   We’ll have dancing afterward. Benedick.   First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince, 2675 thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. Enter a Messenger Messenger.   My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. 2680 Benedick.   Think not on him till to-morrow: I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers. Dance Exeunt THE END 355 W Olive Avenue, Suite 207, Sunnyvale, CA 94086     |     408-738-8384     |     info@improveyourenglish.com Copyright 2003-2010, Improve Your English. All rights reserved.