ACT I.
[000] Scene I. Before Leonato’s house.
MAAN I. 1 Enter Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice, with a Messenger.
[001] Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina.
Mess. He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him.
005 Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?
Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.
Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings [008] home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.
010 Mess. 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 tell you how.
015 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.
Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.
020 Leon. Did he break out into tears?
Mess. In great measure.
Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!
025 Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?
Mess. I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort.
Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?
030 Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.
Mess. O, he’s returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.
Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the [035] bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, [037] I promised to eat all of his killing.
Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; [039] but he’ll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
[040] Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.
[041] Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath help to eat [042] it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.
Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.
045 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?
Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.
Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed [050] man: but for the stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.
Leon. 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 between them.
Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last conflict 055 four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough [057] to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between [058] himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion 060 now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.
Mess. Is’t possible?
Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.
Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.
[065] Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?
Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.
070 Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have [073] caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere [074] a’ be cured.
075 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.
Beat. Do, good friend.
[077] Leon. You will never run mad, niece.
Beat. No, not till a hot January.
[079] Mess. Don Pedro is approached.
Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, and Balthasar.
[080] D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and [081] you encounter it.
Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should 085 remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.
[087] D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter.
Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.
[090] Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?
Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.
[092] D. 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 095 father.
Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.
Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior 100 Benedick: nobody marks you.
Bene. What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Beat. 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.
105 Bene. 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.
Beat. A dear happiness to women: they would else have [110] 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.
Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face.
115 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such [116] a face as yours were.
Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, [120] and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.
Beat. You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.
[124] D. Pedro. That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior 125 Claudio and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato [126] 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 hypocrite, but prays from his heart.
130 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [131] [To Don John] Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.
D. John. I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you.
135 Leon. Please it your Grace lead on?
[136] D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go together. [Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio.
[137] Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?
Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her.
140 Claud. Is she not a modest young lady?
Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgement; or would you have me speak [143] after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?
[144] Claud. No; I pray thee speak in sober judgement.
[145] Bene. 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 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.
150 Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou likest her.
Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?
Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel?
[154] Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this 155 with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song?
[158] Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on.
160 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter: there’s her cousin, an she were not possessed [162] 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?
165 Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
[167] Bene. 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 threescore again? Go to, i’faith; 170 an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look; Don Pedro is [172] returned to seek you.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
[173] D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you [174] followed not to Leonato’s?
175 Bene. I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.
D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.
[177] Bene. 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 in love. [180] With who? now that is your Grace’s part. Mark how [181] short his answer is;—With Hero, Leonato’s short daughter.
[182] Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered.
Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor ’twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.’
185 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise.
D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.
Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.
190 D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.
Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I [193] spoke mine.
Claud. That I love her, I feel.
195 D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
Bene. 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.
D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the 200 despite of beauty.
Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will.
Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks: [205] 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 I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.
210 D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Bene. 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 out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang me up at the door of 215 a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.
D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot [219] at me; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the 220 shoulder, and called Adam.
D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.’
Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull’s horns, and set them 225 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 ‘Here you may see Benedick the married man.’
Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be 230 horn-mad.
D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then.
D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In 235 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.
Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I commit you—
240 Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house, if I had it,—
D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse 245 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.
[248] Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good.
[249] D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,
250 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
D. Pedro. No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
Claud.
O, my lord,
255 When you went onward on this ended action,
I look’d upon her with a soldier’s eye,
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
260 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars.
D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
265 And tire the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it;
[267] And I will break with her and with her father,
[268] And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end
[269] That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?
[270] Claud. How sweetly you do minister to love,
That know love’s grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salved it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
[275] The fairest grant is the necessity.
Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lovest,
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling to-night:
I will assume thy part in some disguise,
280 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;
And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,
[282] And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale:
Then after to her father will I break;
285 And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
[286] In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt.
[000] Scene II. A room in Leonato’s house.
MAAN I. 2 Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting.
Leon. How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your son? hath he provided this music?
Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell [004] you strange news, that you yet dreamt not of.
005 Leon. Are they good?
[006] Ant. As the event stamps them: but they have a good cover; they show well outward. The prince and Count [008] Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine orchard, [009] were thus much overheard by a man of mine: the prince 010 discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; [012] and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.
Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?
015 Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him yourself.
Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear [018] itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may [019] be the better prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be [020] true. Go you and tell her of it. [Enter attendants.] Cousins, you know what you have to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good [023] cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt.
[000] Scene III. The same.
MAAN I. 3 Enter Don John and Conrade.
[001] Con. What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?
D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that [004] breeds; therefore the sadness is without limit.
005 Con. You should hear reason.
D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing [007] brings it?
[008] Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.
D. John. I wonder that thou, being (as thou sayest thou [010] art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide 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; 015 laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour.
[016] Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this [017] till you may do it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta’en you newly [019] into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true 020 root but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest.
D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose [023] in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any: in this, 025 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 [027] trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my 030 liking: in the meantime let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.
Con. Can you make no use of your discontent?
[033] D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes here?
Enter Borachio.
035 What news, Borachio?
[036] Bora. I came yonder from a great supper: the prince your brother is royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage.
D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief 040 on? What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?
Bora. Marry, it is your brother’s right hand.
D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio?
Bora. Even he.
045 D. John. A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he?
[047] Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.
[048] D. John. A very forward March-chick! How came you [049] to this?
050 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, [052] hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give 055 her to Count Claudio.
D. 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 bless myself [059] every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?
060 Con. To the death, my lord.
D. 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?
Bora. We’ll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.
[000] ACT II.
Scene I. A hall in Leonato’s house.
MAAN II. 1 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others.
Leon. Was not Count John here at supper?
Ant. I saw him not.
Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after.
005 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.
Beat. He were an excellent man that were made just in the midway between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image and says nothing, and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling.
010 Leon. Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face,—
Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any [015] woman in the world, if a’ could get her good-will.
Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
Ant. In faith, she’s too curst.
Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s 020 sending that way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to a cow too curst he sends none.
Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.
Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and 025 evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard [026] on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.
[027] Leon. You may light on a husband that hath no beard.
Beat. What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel, and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that 030 hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no beard is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the [034] bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.
[035] Leon. Well, then, go you into hell?
Beat. No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet [037] 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 [040] to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.
Ant. [To Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father.
[044] Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make courtesy, and say, ‘Father, as it please you.’ But yet for all [045] that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make [047] another courtesy, and say, ‘Father, as it please me.’
Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.
050 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered [052] with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life [053] to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s [054] sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match 055 in my kindred.
Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.
Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be [059] not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell 060 him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the [061] answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting, [062] is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, [065] full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and [067] faster, till he sink into his grave.
Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by 070 daylight.
Leon. The revellers are entering, brother: make good [072] room. [All put on their masks.
[073] Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked.
D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend?
Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say 075 nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I walk away.
D. Pedro. With me in your company?
Hero. I may say so, when I please.
D. Pedro. And when please you to say so?
080 Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like the case!
[082] D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house [083] is Jove.
[084] Hero. Why, then, your visor should be thatched.
[085] D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Drawing her aside.
[086] Balth. Well, I would you did like me.
[087] Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities.
Balth. Which is one?
[090] Marg. I say my prayers aloud.
[091] Balth. I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.
Marg. God match me with a good dancer!
Balth. Amen.
Marg. And God keep him out of my sight when the 095 dance is done! Answer, clerk.
[096] Balth. No more words: the clerk is answered.
Urs. I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.
Ant. At a word, I am not.
Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.
100 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
[101] Urs. 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.
Ant. At a word, I am not.
105 Urs. Come, come, do you think I do not know you by [106] your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, [107] you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so?
Bene. No, you shall pardon me.
[110] Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are?
Bene. Not now.
Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales’:—well, this was Signior Benedick that said so.
115 Bene. What’s he?
[116] Beat. I am sure you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, believe me.
Beat. Did he never make you laugh?
Bene. I pray you, what is he?
120 Beat. Why, he is the prince’s jester: a very dull fool; [121] only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in [123] his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I 125 am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me.
Bene. When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say.
Beat. Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at, 130 strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a partridge [131] wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music.] We must follow the leaders.
Bene. In every good thing.
Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at [135] the next turning. [Dance. Then exeunt all except Don John, Borachio, and Claudio.
[136] D. John. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains.
Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.
140 D. John. Are not you Signior Benedick?
Claud. You know me well; I am he.
D. 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 145 part of an honest man in it.
[146] Claud. How know you he loves her?
D. John. I heard him swear his affection.
Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night.
150 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio.
Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
[152] 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
155 Save in the office and affairs of love:
[156] Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
[158] And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
160 This is an accident of hourly proof,
[161] Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!
Re-enter Benedick.
Bene. Count Claudio?
Claud. Yea, the same.
Bene. Come, will you go with me?
165 Claud. Whither?
Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, [167] county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about [168] your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wear it one way, for the 170 prince hath got your Hero.
Claud. I wish him joy of her.
[172] Bene. Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would have served you thus?
175 Claud. I pray you, leave me.
[176] Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.
Claud. If it will not be, I’ll leave you. [Exit.
[179] Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into 180 sedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and [181] not know me! The prince’s fool! Ha? It may be I go [182] under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am [183] apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base, [184] though bitter, disposition of Beatrice that puts the world 185 into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I may.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
[187] D. Pedro. Now, signior, where’s the count? did you see him?
Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady 190 Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a [191] warren: I told him, and I think I told him true, that your [192] grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, [194] as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being 195 worthy to be whipped.
D. Pedro. To be whipped! What’s his fault?
Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, [198] being overjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it.
200 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in the stealer.
Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you, 205 who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest.
D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner.
Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly.
210 D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you.
Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a [214] block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have 215 answered her; my very visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been [217] myself, that I was the prince’s jester, that I was duller [218] than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at 220 a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible [222] as her terminations, there were no living near her; [223] she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had [225] 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 [228] her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is 230 here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation [233] follows her.
D. Pedro. Look, here she comes.
Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato.
[235] Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s foot; fetch you a [240] hair off the great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies; rather than hold three words’ conference [242] with this harpy. You have no employment for me?
D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.
Bene. O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot [245] endure my Lady Tongue. [Exit.
D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick.
Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I [249] gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one: 250 marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost it.
D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down.
Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I 255 should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.
D. Pedro. Why, how now, count! wherefore are you sad?
Claud. Not sad, my lord.
260 D. Pedro. How then? sick?
Claud. Neither, my lord.
Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, [263] nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something [264] of that jealous complexion.
265 D. Pedro. I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; [266] though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero [268] is won: I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee 270 joy!
Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it.
Beat. Speak, count, ’tis your cue.
275 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.
Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth 280 with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.
D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear [284] that he is in her heart.
285 Claud. And so she doth, cousin.
Beat. Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one [287] to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt; I may sit in a [288] corner, and cry heigh-ho for a husband!
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
290 Beat. I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.
D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady?
Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for 295 working-days: your Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace, pardon me: I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.
D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be [299] merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were 300 born in a merry hour.
Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then [302] there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy!
Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 305 you of?
Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon. [Exit.
[308] D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.
Leon. There’s little of the melancholy element in her, 310 my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not [311] ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath [312] often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.
D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.
315 Leon. O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit.
D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick.
Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad.
[320] D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church?
Claud. To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.
Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a 325 just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all [326] things answer my mind.
D. 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 330 Hercules’ labours; which is, to bring Signior Benedick and [331] the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt [333] not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction.
335 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings.
Claud. And I, my lord.
D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero?
Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help 340 my cousin to a good husband.
D. 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 will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall 345 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, Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go [350] in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt.
[000] Scene II. The same.
MAAN II. 2 Enter Don John and Borachio.
D. John. It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato.
Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.
D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be 005 medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?
Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me.
010 D. John. Show me briefly how.
Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero.
D. John. I remember.
015 Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber window.
D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage?
Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you 020 to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio—whose estimation do you mightily hold up—to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero.
D. John. What proof shall I make of that?
025 Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue?
D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing.
[030] Bora. 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 prince and [033] Claudio, as,—in love of your brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s reputation, who is thus 035 like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you [036] have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer them instances; which shall bear no less likelihood than to see me at her chamber-window; hear me call [039] Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret term me Claudio; and 040 bring them to see this the very night before the intended [041] wedding,—for in the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be absent,—and there shall appear such [043] seeming truth of Hero’s disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance and all the preparation overthrown.
045 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.
[048] Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me.
050 D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. [Exeunt.
[000] Scene III. Leonato’s orchard.
MAAN II. 3 Enter Benedick.
[001] Bene. Boy!
Enter Boy.
Boy. Signior?
Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it hither to me in the orchard.
005 Boy. I am here already, sir.
Bene. I know that; but I would have thee hence, and [007] here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such 010 shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him but the drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile a-foot 015 to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; [018] and now is he turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet,—just so many strange dishes. May I 020 be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but love may transform me [022] 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 025 well; another virtuous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. [027] 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 [029] her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not I for an 030 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.
[033] Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music?
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
035 As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself?
Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
[038] We’ll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.
Enter Balthasar with Music.
D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.
[040] Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
[041] To slander music any more than once.
D. 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.
[045] Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
Yet will he swear he loves.
D. Pedro.
Nay, pray thee, come;
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balth.
050 Note this before my notes;
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.
D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
[053] Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. [Air.
Bene. Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it 055 not strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s done.
The Song.
Balth.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
060 To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
[065] Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,
[066] Of dumps so dull and heavy;
[067] The fraud of men was ever so,
[068] Since summer first was leavy:
Then sigh not so, &c.
070 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
[072] D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift.
[074] Bene. An he had been a dog that should have howled 075 thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God his [076] bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.
D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I [079] pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night 080 we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.
Balth. The best I can, my lord.
[082] D. 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 Signior 085 Benedick?
Claud. O, ay: stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. I did never think that lady would have loved any man.
Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all 090 outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.
Bene. Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?
Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to [093] think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged affection; [094] it is past the infinite of thought.
095 D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit.
Claud. Faith, like enough.
Leon. O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.
D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she?
[100] Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.
Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you [102] heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud. She did, indeed.
D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I 105 would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection.
Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick.
Bene. I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded 110 fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence.
Claud. He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.
D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick?
115 Leon. No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment.
Claud. ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she, ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, 120 write to him that I love him?’
Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to 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 [124] paper: my daughter tells us all.
125 Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember [126] a pretty jest your daughter told us of.
[127] Leon. O, when she had writ it, and was reading it [128] over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?
Claud. That.
130 Leon. O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her; ‘I measure him,’ [133] says she, ‘by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.’
135 Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, [136] sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!’
Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is [140] sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to herself: it is very true.
D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it.
[144] Claud. To what end? He would make but a sport of 145 it, and torment the poor lady worse.
[146] D. 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.
Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
150 D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick.
Leon. 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.
155 D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on [156] me: I would have daffed all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what [158] a’ will say.
Leon. Were it good, think you?
160 Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she 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.
D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender of 165 her love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as [166] you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man.
D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward happiness.
[169] Claud. Before God! and in my mind, very wise.
170 D. Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit.
[172] Claud. And I take him to be valiant.
D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing [174] of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids [175] them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.
[177] Leon. 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.
180 D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go [183] seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?
[184] Claud. Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out 185 with good counsel.
Leon. Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first.
D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and [190] I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see [191] how much he is unworthy so good a lady.
Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.
Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation.
195 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her; [196] and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry. [197] The 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 [200] her to call him in to dinner. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
[201] Bene. [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 [204] have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited. 205 I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to 210 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 [214] will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some [215] odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite [217] alter? a man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career 220 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! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
[224] Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to [225] dinner.
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come.
230 Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message?
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a [232] knife’s point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well. [Exit.
Bene. Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come [235] in to dinner;’ there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took 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 [238] 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 240 her picture. [Exit.